


Being Sane in Insane Places

by BurningIce22 (Esperanto)



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Backstory, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Electroconvulsive Therapy, F/M, Historical, Memory Loss, Non-Consensual Electroconvulsive Therapy, Non-Graphic Violence, Prophetic Visions, insane asylum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25035649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esperanto/pseuds/BurningIce22
Summary: Alice had existed for just over four years when she began to frighten her parents. She knew things. Things she shouldn’t know… couldn’t know. And she was locked away for it.'Being Sane in Insane Places' tells the beginnings of Alice Cullen's story. It begins with her childhood growing up at the turn of the century, trying to navigate the strange gift she was born with. When her abilities are discovered, she is sent to an insane asylum where she is treated with electroconvulsive therapy until she is finally turned. With the help of her visions, Alice travels America, searching first for herself and then for the man she knows is her destiny.**This is an old fic from 2007 being cross-post on Ao3 for the first time. Story is complete**
Relationships: Alice Cullen/Jasper Hale
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. Prologue: First Time

**Author's Note:**

> **This is a very old story I wrote in 2007 that I was finally convinced to cross-post over here. The story is complete (~40,000 words) and I'm still really proud of it, despite how long ago I wrote it. I hope the current Twilight fandom enjoys it!**
> 
> **Longer backstory:** I haven't been active in this fandom for many years but I've always been really proud of this story and was so blessed to receive so much positive feedback on it at the time. I've always felt a little guilty that I never finished it or at least marked it as complete...and then when I got back into fanfiction writing in 2019 I tried to get into my old fanfiction.net account only to find that I'd long since forgotten the password and the hotmail email address I'd used to create it was long since irretrievable. I thought that was the end of it; thank you to [lilyvandersteen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyvandersteen/pseuds/lilyvandersteen) for encouraging me to post this here.
> 
>  **Canon Compliance:** This story should be canon-compliant through New Moon. I believe this story was written before Eclipse was published; so there are some minor divergences but other than the location of events this story is surprisingly compliant with Eclipse.
> 
> Author's notes here will be a mix of old and new (I'll keep any old notes about research). The story itself will be the same, with possibly some typo fixes or minor polishing. The prologue is very brief by subsequent chapters are longer.

_1905_  
 _Biloxi_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alice_ _is four years old._

It was 1:30pm. I knew because I had seen it on the clock in the restaurant just before we walked out the door. Father had taught me how to tell time. But I guess he didn’t think it would work because he looked so surprised the first time I did it. Mother looked kind of alarmed at first, but I don’t think she minds anymore. It was such a lovely summer day that Mother decided we would walk to a restaurant for lunch. The walk was not very long, so I didn’t mind. And we got to go past the flower shop. Mother is glad that I take an interest in the flower shop; she says that a cultured woman appreciates flowers and she is glad I’m developing this so young. I just like all the bright colors, but I don’t tell her this. 

We stopped at the edge of a busy street. Mother glanced around briefly and held my hand as we waited for a carriage to pass. When it did she tugged on my hand so we could cross, but suddenly I was afraid. I pulled against her. 

“Wait Mother.” I knew she would want a reason, but I did not have one. 

“What is the trouble Mary Alice?” 

“Please wait.” With one hand I grabbed onto an old hitching post, in case she tried to drag me with her, and with the other I held onto her skirt, in case she tried to leave without me. She did neither. Mother never caused a scene if she could help it. A pigeon landed on the curb, pecking for crumbs. It wandered into the street. I heard a roar. A black automobile tore down the street, as fast as a running horse. He was not supposed to drive so fast. He was supposed to stop at the corner. But he didn’t. I watched the pigeon flatten under the tires and I felt a fleck of blood land on my cheek. Mother was startled. For a moment I thought she had forgotten that I had stopped her. But she didn’t. She kneeled down so that her head was close to mine and asked in a soft voice:

“Mary Alice, why can’t we go?”

“We can go now.”

“Why not before?”

“We would have been the pigeon.”


	2. Horse Race

Nothing was ever quite the same after that first time. It was almost imperceptible at first. But I could see it in the spark of fear I saw in my mother’s eyes that day, in her wariness of me, and in the whispered discussions I could detect in my parents' room when they thought I was sleeping. I was an unusually observant child and I knew that some very slight change had taken place, but I did not know what. I was aware then that sometimes I just… knew things, knew they were true, knew they would happen…or could. But again, the reason eluded me. At first I did not understand that this was unusual and, as my mother saw it, to therefore be feared. At first she wrote it off as a childish fantasy that I would grow out of at the proper time. A mother does not fear when her child tells of imaginary friends, and so my mother told herself this was no different. 

She almost convinced herself too, but I could tell she never succeeded. Perhaps she would have been less concerned if my eerie premonitions hadn’t had an uncanny pattern of coming true. Still…she hoped. 

But as the years went on, I could see her hope turn to unease. I had known that something was wrong, but it took me a long time to realize she was frightened of me. How could she not be? Yet she was not unkind or cold. I knew without my oddity, she could have loved me entirely, but with it… she struggled. She was in a constant state of conflict. I think she wanted to love me, really she did… but I also scared her and she could not forget that fact, no matter how hard she might try. 

* * *

_1912  
_ _Biloxi_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alice_ _is 11 years old._

Today Father took me to a horse race. I had thought that what with all the dust it would be a more casual affair, but it seems that no event involving more than ten people is ever casual. My misapprehension was uncovered when Mother came in armed with a hairbrush. She even bought me a new dress. It was a pale pale green and truly beautiful. But what made me even happier was that I realized that instead of getting something in a dark, more somber color, one that would be appropriate for fall; she got me something she knew I would love. She sat me on a chair in front of the mirror and she brushed out my long black hair until it fell smoothly to my waist. 

“Oh Alice darling, never cut it. It’s too beautiful.” She lightly caressed my head and I smiled under her gaze. She turned quickly and I grabbed her hand, pulling her towards me. She looked puzzled. She turned her eyes the other way and then she saw it: the vase, teetering slightly on the table where she had bumped it. I could pretend it had been nothing, but we both knew what had transpired. I could try to turn this into something normal. After all, I had known the vase’s position prior… perhaps I had simply remembered its proximity when she had not. There was a rational explanation. Pity it wasn’t true. 

She saved me from having to explain this: “The vase. You didn’t want me to break it did you?” 

I nodded noncommittally. 

“Run along, Mary Alice, you don’t want to keep your father waiting.”

I obediently hopped up and, with the grace acquired from years of dance lessons, I proceeded into the front room to join Father. 

I was extremely excited but equally determined not to show it. He looked down at me admiringly and patted my hair. 

“Are you ready, my angel?”

I allowed myself a quick smile and declared that I was. 

* * *

When we arrived, we passed a table surrounded by a crowd of men. “What’s that Father?”

“That? Those men are betting on the race…why that’s half the fun of it. Didn’t you know?”

I thought for a moment, and then acted on impulse. “Do you think **I** could make a bet Father?”

He chuckled, “Well I suppose there couldn’t be too much harm in it. But I should warn you, people lose entire fortunes at that table. Bets are not to be taken lightly Alice.” With that he reached into his wallet and winked as he handed me a nickel. I giggled. Then he took my hand and pulled me into the crowd. After a few minutes of waiting, we reached the front of the line. Father stood up tall and addressed the man, “Hello good sir, I would like to place a bet.”

“Which horse?”

Father leaned over until our faces were level, “What’ll it be Alice?”

“Number twelve. Jackson.” Father kissed me on the nose and then straightened up. I stood up tall and handed over the shiny coin. 

“All right little lady, five cents on number twelve…and if your man wins you be sure to bring me this ticket after the race and pick up your dollar, though I should warn you, the odds are against you.” 

The odds were more in my favor than he could possibly imagine, but I simply smiled my most charming smile and assured him that I would. 

* * *

Father was surprised when Jackson won the race; I wasn’t. But there was more than surprise in his features. I knew that he had regarded the whole matter of my strangeness as an odd bit of nonsense best left between me and my mother. Since she was the one who stayed home with me while Father worked, she was the most common witness to the almost-accidents I had the uncanny ability to prevent. But Father had not seen such unsettling things before, and so after this display he regarded me with a strange look. I worried that I had gone too far, and perhaps was about to lose my greatest ally. 

“Alice… why did you pick Jackson? I know that you know what the numbers up there mean, and the numbers said he was going to lose.” I was taken aback by his upfront manner. 

“But he didn’t lose Father.” I almost left it at that. It was vague. It was easy. An easy conversation closer. An easy out for him if he lost his nerve. But he had come this far and I already knew that now, after finally gathering up the nerve, he would press on for information despite any evasions. I might as well catalyze the process, and so I added, “I knew he wouldn’t” 

Father looked at me inquisitively. “Alice, you **know** that there is no way you could know that?” He paused for a moment and I could see the gears turning in his head. “Alice…this is why Mother has been fretting, isn’t it? This is what she means?”

I looked up at him and, encouraged by the friendliness in his eyes, I nodded. His expression changed, “Alice? Do you know who is going to win the next race.”

There was no hesitation in my response, “Abacus.”

His lips curled into a grin, “How about you and I go place one more bet?”


	3. Undignified Gesture

_The same day._

Father ran towards me, tucking the crisp twenty he had just received into his pocket. He was not so dishonest that he would use my abilities to win any large sum…although with the amount those bookies took in every race; it might have been fair after all. He swooped down and scooped me up. 

“Alice, do you know what this means?” 

I shook my head.

“It means I’m taking the family out to dinner.” I laughed as he spun around, my hair flying out.

“Me and Cynthia too?” I grinned hopefully at him.

“You and Cynthia too…. especially you. After all, you are funding this little expedition.”

Everyone enjoyed the dinner. Our table was filled with laughter and pleasant conversation. The evening felt significant somehow, though at first I could not pinpoint the reason. Then it hit me. This was the very first time that I had acted as a result of a premonition, and only good had come of it. Only Father had known about it, but still, it counted. I had received no frightened looks, no accusatory glares… nothing. 

* * *

_1914  
_ _Biloxi_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alice_ _is 13 years old._

Today we had school. Every morning Cynthia and I walked the ten blocks to the nearby schoolhouse. We walked the last five in the company of my only friend, Linda Hall. I had never gotten along well with other children. When I first started attending school, lots of kids talked to me and wanted to be my friend. I had ten friends for about two weeks. By then, there were only three left. I had scared the rest away. 

I was just too young to realize that my behaviors were abnormal and that other people would find them disconcerting. And so, I lost the other three friends the following week. Then I was alone. That was when I realized that I would have to pretend. I would have to keep my opinions to myself and try to act like the rest of the kids. But the damage had already been done. Still, I resolved not to interfere unless there was an emergency. 

Then Linda moved to Biloxi when we were both nine. She had never seen me in those first years so she was only exposed to a toned down level of strangeness… and she took me in. But she was not so blind that she did not see the other children’s avoidance of me. However, she never asked me or anyone else why. Linda did not pry, and that was one of my favorite things about her. Unfortunately, Linda was sentenced to the same loneliness I was subjected to. I was never sure what it was exactly that marked her as untouchable. It could have been her stringy hair the unusual color of a carrot, the watery blue eyes with irises so pale they were almost white, the faded dresses handed down from her sister, or the small soft voice she spoke in that never seemed to raise above a whisper. I suspected it was the unusual combination of all of these forces coming together into one exceptionally strange being that did it. That, and hanging around with me. 

This particular day at school began ordinarily enough… as ordinarily as it could. School was often a struggle for me. It wasn’t the academics that bothered me, or even the ever-obvious truth that no one spoke to me. It was the helplessness. And it was the fraud. With the physical proximity to so many people came the knowledge of so much about them. Much of it was trivial details, things I would have rather not be bothered with. But other things were hard to keep inside. Therein was the helplessness, and therein was the fraud. 

I sat in my desk, trying once again to block these things from reaching me, but there did not seem to exist a way. I looked up, the teacher called the class to order and began passing out a surprise quiz. I had known it was coming since three days prior and had studied the appropriate material. I was going to pass. Linda on the other hand looked terrified. I already knew she hadn’t studied; I already knew she was going to fail. But what could I do? Not only had I sworn not to interfere, but there was no way to explain to my friend how I knew to give such a warning in the first place. I sighed, turning over my completed quiz. 

* * *

On the walk home from school Cynthia began coughing rather violently. Linda looked alarmed. She glanced over at me, surprised to see me looking entirely unconcerned. But her house loomed ahead, and so before she could comment, our moment to part arrived. I waved goodbye and then looked down at my sister. She did look a little green, and the hacking cough had remained persistent. She stumbled. I sighed and squatted on the ground.

“Alright little one, hop on.” She looked at me skeptically. I knew she was thinking over my undignified gesture. What would people think if they saw me walking through the street with my sister on my back. But she was eleven now, and almost equaled me in weight. I knew I could not carry her any other way. 

I answered her silence, “Oh damn the glares we’re sure to get. Your health is far more important. And if anyone questions, they’ll repent as soon as they know the situation.” 

That seemed to settle the matter. So I helped her onto my back and carried her the remaining five blocks. 

* * *

No one was in the house when we arrived, so I continued up the stairs and set her down on her bed. I quickly located a cotton nightgown and helped her into it. Once I was sure she was comfortable and had a full glass of water, I phoned the doctor and Father. They arrived within two minutes of one another. The doctor made a calm examination, but Father paced the room distractedly, only stopping occasionally to peer fearfully at the bed. I stationed myself on a chair in the corner and did not move the entire time. 

Forty minutes later, the doctor was gone, leaving us with a diagnosis of whooping cough and a bottle of medicine. My mother had been sent for and now that there was nothing left to do, the panic set in. Father was a mess, fretting about and looking terrified. I had not moved from my chair and I wondered if he even remembered I was there. I heard the click of the bolt in the front door turning and Father quit his pacing, hearing it too. “Oh thank God,” he muttered under his breath and hurried to meet his wife. 

I still had not moved when they came back into the room, fifteen minutes later. They were whispering to one another, in voices too hushed for me to understand. When they got closer I picked up a few words: “hasn’t moved…… don’t understand…… I…… at all?” Suddenly Mother whirled around to face me. It was the first direct attention I had gotten in the past two hours and it startled me. Her eyes glared into mine, all pretenses abandoned,

“I don’t understand you Mary Alice, I really don’t. How can you just sit there? How **dare** you just sit there? Don’t you know what’s going on? Don’t you care about your sister at **all**? Don’t you know that she could **die**?” She began calmly enough, but her voice rose as she continued and by the end I could see the anger in her eyes. I gave her a moment to catch her breath. 

“You know,” I mused, “you really shouldn’t talk like that around her.”

This had clearly been the wrong thing to say. My mother fumed, “ **Now** you care what she feels. How dare you lecture me on such subjects?”

“Mother,” I sighed, “you simply must stop these hysterics. They’re helping no one and needlessly frightening your daughter.” Why didn’t she understand what she was doing? Angry as she might be, Cynthia was the important thing right now. How could she not see that?

“Needlessly? I knew you didn’t understand.” Her voice softened for a moment, examining this new hypothesis that I wasn’t cold hearted, but simply ignorant. She sat down next to me. I almost let her think it. I tried so hard to let her think it. But somehow I couldn’t. Somehow I could not prevent the words from tumbling out. I looked at the single tear that had coursed down my sister’s cheek and I could not keep the spite out of my words, though I kept my voice calm and managed not to spit them out.

“Oh I understand. I understand everything. Cynthia could die and you’re so scared. So fine, inflict that upon yourselves if you must, but don’t **you** dare terrify my sister because she is not going to die, not now, not from this.” Mother looked murderous and Cynthia looked bewildered, but Father had hope shining from his eyes. 

“You know, don’t you?” he asked.

Suddenly, the magnitude of what I had admitted sunk in. I had made allusions to my gift, but a reference this direct had not been made by me in years. My eyes widened and I knew that any work toward convincing my parents I was not utterly abnormal was obliterated. Denial didn’t even occur to me. Really, what was the use? 

“Yes,” I whispered so softly that I was surprised when I saw my answer register on each of their faces. 

And then room was blanketed in a still silence. No one knew where to go from here. 


	4. The Healthy and the Sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Original Author's Note:** If you want a lens to view this chapter through, look to the title. 

_1914  
__Biloxi_ _,_ _Mississippi_ _  
__Alice_ _is 13 years old._

For three weeks my sister lay in bed, a raspy cough punctuating the silence. Then she took a turn for the worst. For the first time, I was concerned… I worried that somehow my intuitions had finally failed me at the worst possible time. Tensions ran high in the Brandon house for three nervous days. I kept to myself as much as possible, avoiding my parents whenever I could, going in to visit Cynthia when we were assured privacy. When I was forced to be in the same room as Mother, I kept my eyes permanently attached to my shoes, determined not to stare into her glaring blue eyes. And then, as suddenly as it had started, the cough subsided. The soft hacking only interrupted us every half hour, and then every hour, and then only a few times a day… until it gently eased its way out of our existence. 

The tension eased too, but unlike the sickness, it left a shadow of its former strength as an ever-present threat to lurk in uncomfortable smiles and tactful evasions, waiting until the time came when it would be summoned. 

* * *

The doctor rose from beside Cynthia’s bed and declared her in perfect health. Mother, Father and I all cheered. For a moment we were united in this happiness, and the former state of unease was forgotten. Perhaps this, all of us together now, would be enough. 

The telephone rang. Mother answered it. It was for Cynthia. Her friends knew the verdict would be coming today and did not hesitate in sharing her good news. They seemed to have asked her something, because I heard her agreeing enthusiastically after Mother nodded her head in permission. After another moment, Cynthia placed the phone back in its cradle and turned to me. 

“Oh Alice,” she gushed excitedly, “I’ve been invited out for the evening. The Whitbys are having a party, isn’t that marvelous?”

“Yes, marvelous, fabulous…oh there’s so much to do. It’s just so lucky Mother bought you that new dress.”

“Oh Alice, I was so hoping you would get me ready.”

“Of course.” With that I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her out of bed. We scurried into the bathroom, already giggling. I ran the water in the sink until it was warm, and without further prodding, she put her head under the stream until it was thoroughly soaked. I wrapped it up in a towel and rubbed it so it was just dry enough not to drip. I pulled out a chair and sat her down on it. Then I proceeded to comb through the thin blond hair until it hung neatly. I separated a chunk and wound it up on her scalp, affixing it there with two bobby pins. The rest of her head was soon covered in a similar fashion. 

* * *

That evening we reconvened in the bathroom and once again, she perched on a chair while I hovered about her head. I carefully extracted pins from her blonde hair. When I was finished, I pulled her over to the mirror and she gleefully exclaimed over the spiraling curls I had achieved. I beamed. I fetched her new dress, a delicious silken contraption of the darkest red imaginable. I held it in front of me and twirled a few times.

“You’ll be the belle of the ball,” I declared, handing over the dress. She eagerly stepped into it and, without being asked, I did up the long row of buttons in the back. 

I contemplated for a moment, before deciding that I was feeling devious. I pulled open the bottom drawer of the vanity and pulled out a small compact. I winked conspiratorially at Cynthia before putting a pat of red powder on each cheek and carefully softening the edges with a brush. Technically speaking, neither Cynthia nor I was allowed to wear makeup outside of the house, but Mother didn’t mind if we pinched our cheeks for color. So… as long as that was what she thought we were doing, I didn’t see the harm. 

I rearranged a few curls and then declared her finished. I offered her my arm, which she graciously accepted, and escorted her down the stairs to make a dramatic entrance to our parents, waiting by the door to see her off. 

Mother made her usual fuss, exclaiming over how fabulous she looked and asking Father if he didn’t I agree. She even praised my handiwork, declaring that I could put a beauty parlor professional to shame. I was flattered and very glad that we had this one thing at least that we could each understand in one another. 

After Cynthia left, Mother declared that the two of us were going out. It was stated in a tone of authority that made it clear that my opinion on the matter would mean nothing at all. So I stated none, choosing instead to nod and excuse myself to change into the proper attire for an excursion into town. I chose my clothes quickly and with little care, guessing correctly that this was not going to be a frivolous, social affair. I was not going to enjoy myself this evening, so why bother looking good? I pulled on the first suitable dress I saw in my closet and a dark blue, wool coat that went to my knees and happened to be already out, folded neatly on a chair. 

I rejoined Mother, who had not moved from her post in front of the door. Neither of us made a sound, instead a brief exchange of hand and eyebrow gestures was used to navigate our departure. It not a complicated affair; Mother walked and I followed. At first we walked along the edge of town, and I kept my eyes firmly affixed on the horizon, watching the sun set over the ocean. I sighed, absorbing the splashes of color, as if staring hard enough would cause them to remain burned into my corneas long after the colors faded from the sky. I breathed in slowly, letting the reds and purples fill me up until there was no room for anything else. And all of a sudden I was euphoric. There was no rational explanation; I had seen hundreds of sunsets just like this one in my lifetime, but somehow this one was different. I felt the need to savor it. I clicked my shoes on the pavement to make a beat, so that my steady steps turned into a rhythmic dance. I twirled around once and let a grin sneak up onto my face. And that was how we walked for the next fifteen minutes, me tapping and twirling, and Mother beside me, her gait even and smooth, her eyes only glancing over at me once, only to flit away after a half-second… but not before I saw the pained expression on her face. Then we turned, in towards the heart of the city, leaving the ocean, and my dancing, at our backs. 

* * *

We stopped in front of an indiscriminate grey building. My forward progression ceased immediately and I put a hand on Mother’s shoulder to alert her of this. She turned slowly and looked at me questioningly, so I got right to it.

“Just where exactly are you taking me?” She looked amused for a second, and then she responded, her voice bitter,

“Don’t you already know?” And, though I hadn’t the moment before, I realized that I did know where we were going… and that my wariness had not been uncalled for.

“I do,” I said uncertainly, trying the thought on for size. Then I continued with more confidence, “You’re taking me to a doctor.” 

She looked at me, suddenly defensive. “I’m just concerned Mary Alice. I’m doing this for you.”

“I don’t have trouble believing that you are concerned, but let’s not get tangled up in lies. You are doing this for one person… yourself.”

With that, I turned and ascended the steps to the grey building, determined not to meet her eyes and see the hurt there. I had never, in all my thirteen years of life, ever done anything like that. I had defied my parents in a dozen subtle, vague ways over the years, but I had never said **anything** so direct before. I wasn’t exactly sure what had come over me, but I did not regret it, at least not right then. I felt betrayed, and so I lashed out. Because here she was, handing me over to a stranger who would never… could never understand. At this crucial moment she had refused to accept that I might be something beyond the accepted boundaries of society and placed me in the hands of someone who would judge me stringently and according to these rules. I did not know what a doctor would think of me, but I knew it could not be good. I could only expect it to be much worse than Mother, who had at least seen proof that I was not making things up. But despite the fact that she had led me to the lion’s den, I did not argue her decision. 

* * *

We were shown into a yellow room to wait for the doctor. He joined us after only a few silent minutes. Mother immediately assumed the role of explaining my situation. She said that they had waited as long as they could, hoping I would get better. She explained that I had not, and that recent events had pushed her to these drastic measures. Speaking as if I were not in the room, she relayed a carefully edited version of history, ending with my sister’s recent sickness and how I had frightened her with cryptic statements. I did not bother to correct her. I had already wounded her pride enough for one evening. She never spoke of the horse races, or that first time with the pigeon, instead she chose events that she could supply rational explanations for. 

At first I was resentful, but then I came to a strange realization. She was not trying to make me look bad; on the contrary, she was protecting me with her editing. It was better that I seem crazy than otherworldly. Crazy they could handle, crazy they had seen thousands of times before. But what would they do to me if they thought I could really do what I said I could? I realized that she was protecting me from a much worse fate. 

* * *

Darkness had set in by the time we reached the house. We crept through the dark in silence, walking slowly, on alert for tree roots in the yard. Once inside, we walked together to the top of the stairs, and then parted wordlessly. I became aware then, that there was an unspoken agreement that the night's event were between Mother and I… they were not to be mentioned to Father or Cynthia. I saw no reason to deviate from this, though much later it occurred to me that perhaps I should have. 


	5. Duo No More

_1915  
_ _Biloxi_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alice_ _is 14 years old._

Today there was a new kid at school. His name is Otto Norton, and to my knowledge he is not afraid of me yet. I made an extra effort to not do anything that would be perceived as strange; I had a chance to make a fresh start with this boy and was determined not to mess up such an opportunity. 

For once I was glad to be disliked, for it meant that although Linda occupied the seat to my right, the one on my left happened to be the only empty seat in the classroom. I was grateful for this unusual stroke of good luck. I determined that the time between then and when class ended for lunch hour was my one chance to get to him before any of the others. He needed to see what I was like before he heard any of their warnings or rumors. 

In the time it took the teacher to introduce him and send him to his awaiting seat, my mind ran over a thousand possible ways to start a conversation… I had to act carefully; the last thing I wanted to do was scare him away by being too exuberant or pushy. Most importantly, of course, I couldn’t scare him away by being me. So, when he tripped on the way to his seat, I did not react. It was very difficult. I knew that he would fall to the floor, knew that he would bruise his knee, and that the other children would laugh loudly before meekly subsiding under the disapproving glares of our teacher. I knew that his cheeks would turn a shade pinker and that once he sat in the desk his eyes would gaze determinedly downwards. I knew that I could prevent this, but in doing so I would seal my fate. So I restrained myself. 

I knew it would take the teacher several minutes to settle the class; I grabbed my chance. I leaned over slightly and uttered my carefully selected words in a tone that would be taken as friendly, but not pitying. I did not want to dampen his pride further. I kept my voice low, almost a whisper.

“Hi Otto.” I held out a hand for him to shake, but accompanied it with a wink to be sure he didn’t get the wrong idea. I was rewarded with a slight smile of gratitude and a warm, freckled hand. 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He gave my hand a few more shakes before withdrawing it back and looking at me expectantly.

“Mary Alice,” I supplied.

He nodded and tipped a nonexistent hat. I grinned, liking him already. I looked over at him discreetly, keeping an eye out for anything that would hint at the nature of this unknown boy. He had a friendly face, dotted generously with freckles, the same shade as the mop of dark brown hair that loomed above them. The brown eyes were even darker still, and I could feel his smile radiating from them. 

When the bell rang, he did something extraordinary. He asked to eat lunch with me. He said it was because he didn’t know anyone else. I wondered briefly if this was the truth of an excuse before deciding that either way I did not care. I assured him he was more than welcome to join me and introduced him to Linda. 

He followed us to our usual spot on the grass, under a tree at the very edge of the yard. We began with introductions… I told him about my parents and Linda told him about her parents and older brother. In turn he shared that he had just moved from further up north in Mississippi and was living alone with his father. From there we bounced over an array of topics, and suddenly it was like it had been the three of us under that tree for years. Otto somehow brought out the conversationalist in both Linda and me, each of us talking more than usual, and simultaneously he was able to effortlessly balanced the conversation, making sure he never talked more to either of us. Over the course of that week, I discovered that Otto possessed the rare ability of being able to ensure the comfort of those around him. 

Just five minutes before lunch came to a close, Cynthia came over to see what anomalous circumstances had led to an addition to the untouchable duo. I introduced Otto, who sprung to his feet when his name was announced and gave an extremely low bow… so low that he stumbled and fell to the ground. Cynthia and I laughed. I realized in horror that I was mimicking the deplorable behavior of my classmates; I looked up dreading the defeated expression I could already imagine on his face. I was pleasantly surprised by a lighthearted grin in its place. Somehow, he understood our intentions. 

* * *

At the end of the day I discovered that Otto lived just four blocks away from my house, so he joined us for the walk home. When we were almost to his house, I decided to invite him over. We dropped Cynthia off at home and then walked to the beach. We took off our shoes and walked along the shore, the waves gently lapping at our feet. It was strange… never in my entire life had I felt so comfortable around someone, yet here was this boy I had only met earlier that day and I had never felt more at ease. Somewhere along our winding journey, I realized that I had found my first real, true friend. 

I was able to savor that feeling all evening as I talked with Otto. I grinned all through dinner and skipped to my room in the evening. That night I fell asleep smiling, happier than I had been in a long time.

* * *

The month that followed whirled by at an alarming speed. I spent as much of each day with Otto and Linda as possible. A strange sort of trade agreement emerged that no one had ever verbalized, yet existed nonetheless. There was a sudden obligation to share what little we knew so that between us there began to form a collective knowledge. Otto taught us to how to make accurate sketches using the principles of perspective. I taught Otto to waltz and attempted rather unsuccessfully to train Linda’s hands in the ways of hairstyling. With Linda’s guidance we combined her handiness with a needle, Otto’s drawing skills, and my flair for fashion to try our hand at dressmaking. 

At the end of the month, our project finally started to take off and we completed our first product. When we had first set out, there had been a slight dilemma regarding just who this first dress should be intended for. There seemed to be no fair way to choose between Linda and me… and a six inch height discrepancy ruled out any possibility of sharing. I had been just about to offer to let Linda have it when Otto pointed out that my birthday had passed recently and that it seemed appropriate that the dress be for me, as a late present… since he had only moved to Biloxi two weeks after it had passed and felt that by helping with the dress he could pay off some imagined debt. 

We were now gathered in Linda’s bedroom for the grand unveiling. I had been the sole designer of the garment, but for the past week as they worked on the final steps of production, they had insisted upon keeping it hidden. Otto now withdrew a flat rectangle of tissue paper tied with a ribbon. I grinned and did my best not to just tear the paper off in excitement. If it looked anything like Otto’s sketches, it would be amazing. 

It was even better. I ran to the bathroom to put it on. Linda really had done a marvelous job, it fit just right. I had intentionally kept the design simple; it fit loosely and was constructed with only a few seams. It was the fabric that was the best part, all yellows and pinks and golden browns arranged into an uncomplicated floral pattern. 

When I emerged from the bathroom, Linda and Otto broke out into applause. The three of us crowded around the mirror and Otto, who was standing between us, linked his arms with ours and declared, “Girls, we did good.”

* * *

The next day would change everything. It began innocently enough, but something about the day was off and I felt on edge from the moment my eyelids flickered open. This was not especially unusual and most of the time nothing very drastic followed such feelings of uneasiness. I hoped that wearing the dress would soothe my nerves, but its calming effect was minimal. I hurried through breakfast and walked to Linda’s house at as fast a pace as my short legs could manage without breaking out into a run. I tried to slow my footsteps and heartbeat, though it was mostly for the sake of Cynthia, who seemed rather puzzled by my actions. 

School progressed with an utter lack of anomalous interruptions to explain my unease… which somehow managed to agitate me further. After lunch Linda and I said goodbye to Otto as the class split in half by gender for our afternoon lessons. Today we worked on expanding our very basic knowledge of shorthand. The work was tedious, but I recognized that such skills were vital to nearly every job opportunity for women that did not involve factory labor. We were copying a paragraph from the blackboard and I was nearly finished when it happened. 

I dropped my pen in shock. I had to get out of here now. I pulled in an impossibly slow breath, concentrating on keeping my heartbeat slow enough that the panic would not be heard in my voice. 

I raised my hand and breathed a sigh of relief when the teacher immediately called on me and accepted my request to use the restroom. I walked through the hallway, willing myself not break into a run until I was out of sight. I passed the door to Otto’s classroom and stopped. I had not planned on taking him with me, but as soon as I saw the door I knew that that was what would happen. I looked in through a small window in the door and waited until we made eye contact; he nodded at me and quickly excused himself.

One of my favorite things about Otto was that he knew when not to pry. And so, at this very crucial moment when explanations were impossible, he simply took my hand and matched my pace when I took off running. I did not know where I was going, but I knew that if I just kept moving, I would end up in the right place. We ran four blocks and then, surprising myself as much as Otto, I came to an unexpected stop in front of the flower shop. 

A phone. I needed a phone. I could not afford to be rash. No need to alert suspicion and ruin all my recent efforts at normality when such things could be avoided. And a phone call would be faster. I dashed into the shop, Otto in tow, and breathlessly asked to use the telephone. The woman behind the desk seemed disturbed by my ragged breathing, but nodded and pointed the way. I spat out the number at the operator, cursing the time she wasted dialing. 

It rang once.

It rang twice.

Three times.

Four.

There was no answer. The panic rose up in my chest. I looked over at Otto, knowing I could not take him with me… I would have trouble enough as it was explaining my sudden flight. I breathed a sigh of relief as I remembered the phone still in my hand. “I’ll come as soon as I can Mother.” I placed the phone back in its cradle and told Otto to go back to school, assuring him that I would be fine but needed to tend to a family affair. He picked up on my planted hint and made no protest.

It took only a few minutes to run the distance from the flower shop to my house. My body was fueled by adrenaline and my mind stuck resolutely in the present, forbidden from the dark realm of worries or regrets. I stormed up the front steps, only stopping to fumble with the key, then continued onwards into the front room to yell pleading questions to the ears of someone or no one; I would find out which soon enough.

I did not get a response. 

Desperation took over and I tore up the stairs, bursting into my parent’s bedroom. There on the floor lay my father… and he wasn’t moving. I put my hand on his chest, relieved to find his heartbeat existent, though extremely erratic. I grabbed the nearby phone off of the bedside table and dialed the hospital. When I was assured that an ambulance was on its way I hung up and placed another call to my mother. Thankfully I knew that she was having lunch with her parents and easily got a hold of her, alerting her in a shaky voice of Father’s collapse. Then, emotionally and physically depleted, I collapsed onto the floor.

* * *

I awoke to find myself in an uncomfortable chair in a small white room. Father was unconscious on the bed next to me, but the steady beeping of a monitor told me he was still alive. I looked up as the door squeaked open, Mother emerging from behind the wood. Her face was unreadable and it worried me… but I had more pressing concerns.

“What happened?” I questioned urgently. “Is he all right? What’s the matter?”

“He had a heart attack… a bad one. It’s too soon to know the full extent of the damage, though the doctors seem to be hopeful. As for your first question, I think it would be most appropriate if you answered it yourself.”

“I… I don’t know. He was already on the floor when I got there.” She looked at me, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Alice, why don’t you come with me for a breath of fresh air? I knew the phrasing was just a pretense; I was to accompany her outside… my opinion on the matter did not factor into the equation.

I followed Mother until we found ourselves in an abandoned patio behind the hospital. I looked up at her, trying to keep my expression neutral until I knew exactly what she wanted. 

“Alice, I think you have some explaining to do.”

“Oh?” I would admit nothing until I knew her intentions. That was my instinct. Even at times like this when I knew such efforts were most likely futile. They only really worked when the questioner did not actually want the truth, just a plausible explanation. She had brought me out here for a specific purpose and would stop at nothing short of the complete and entire truth. 

She narrowed her eyes at me, “Alice, you called me from home at a time I know you are supposed to be in school. There is no reason why you should have been there. But you were.” I sighed, buying a few extra seconds in which to decide exactly how to go about this.

“I saved his life, does it really matter how it happened?” Perhaps she could be distracted.

“Yes Alice, it does matter. You make out like it’s so obvious you saved him; how do I know you’re not the reason for all of this to begin with?”

My mouth dropped open in horror and shock. I had anticipated accusations, demands, but never anything like this. Was this what she had been thinking when Cynthia became ill? I did not know what to say, so I settled on the truth.

“Fine.” I launched into a brief summary of the days events, making sure to include the tidbit about phoning in first; my extreme confidence always unsettled her and I thought she would appreciate this course of action, typical of the unsure. 

I had carefully studied her face during my explanation, but it gave nothing away, her lips pressed firmly together and her eyes hard.

After a moment, she sighed, and gave me the strangest look. It was a look of desperation, as if she had tried everything and nothing had worked… but there was a glimmer of apology in her eyes for a split second before the hard line of her lips reformed. 

“This cannot go on, Alice.” I shivered at the threat implicit in her words. What did she intend to do? And how could I stop her? I could… run away? Maybe I could even take Otto with me. We would escape together. I could be happy if I had him with me. But would he come? My heart sank as I realized I could not tear him away from his father, who relied on him extensively. My heart dropped a notch further as my thoughts turned to my own father. How could I leave _him_? I couldn’t, I decided. Not now. Not like _this_. That would be the worst sort of treachery. 

We walked in silence up the stairs to my father’s room. He was asleep, but Mother motioned for the nurse to join her in the hallway. I had not been dismissed, so I remained at her side, curious. 

In a low voice she asked if they had any idea what had caused the heart attack. Suddenly I was uneasy.

“Mr. Brandon was only awake for a few minutes. But he did say he was under a lot of stress before the incident. And then the ringing of the phone startled him and that’s when he felt the pain. He fell asleep before we could get anything else out of him”

I clutched the folds of my dress between my fingers in an attempt to hide my shaking hands. I was vaguely aware that Mother had grabbed my sleeve and that we had left the hospital and were walking down a wide street in the direction of our home. I felt a muted sense of surprise to see the sun still shining in the sky; the events that had transpired over the course of a few hours had seemed to have stretched on far longer. 

Otto was waiting on the front porch when we arrived and I had never been so glad to see him. I told him the revised story my mother and I had agreed upon. He knew just when to give my shoulder a comforting pat and when to distract me by listing off the wild stories our classmates had concocted to explain our odd disappearance. 

We both looked up as the door gave a loud creak and swung open. Mother appeared in the doorway, tactfully informing Otto that the family had been through an exhausting ordeal and that it would be best if he went home. She left with the assurance that I would join her momentarily. 

I rose from my seat and walked with him to the gate. He reached over and squeezed my hand. He started release it a moment later, but I tightened my grip and looked up at him with wide eyes, “Otto, you’re never going to see me again.” Our eyes met in mutual surprise, for this was a much a revelation for me as it was for him.

“Alice I…” He trailed off, unsure of how to express his astonishment. Much as I wanted to stay and prolong our last moments, I could not stay and give him time to collect his thoughts. I could not stand to see him look at me in fear or scorn, like that I saw in the eyes of the other schoolchildren every day. And so I pulled him to me, slipping my arm around his waist and brushing my lips against his cheek before releasing his hand and darting back to the house. 

I looked out through a window, safely hidden by the darkness of the room. He remained in front of the gate for a moment, the expression of shock still frozen on his face. His mouth hung open slightly and his eyes were glossy. And then he turned and walked away, never to be seen again. 

* * *

I was only given twenty minutes respite before I heard a thunderous knocking on the front door. I wondered what impolite visitor had chosen such an inconvenient time to thrust himself upon us. I heard Mother open the door and then was surprised by more thundering, this time caused by several pairs of feet traveling in a hurry up the stairs. 

The door to my room burst open. I jolted up from the bed to see two men in navy blue uniforms. They offered no introduction, but instead walked up purposefully, each grabbing on to one of my arms.

I tried to break free from their grasp, but they only tightened their grip. 

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.

“You’re coming with us,” the man on my left sneered. I felt the panic still remaining in my system from earlier flare up again. Like a spark suddenly hit with a gust of oxygen-saturated air, it sprung up out of nowhere, raging full force. 

“Where are you taking me?” I did my best to sound threatening and in control. 

I felt pressure on my arm as the men began walking forward, dragging me with them. “We’ve got no time for games, kid.”

“Mother!” I called out loudly, my voice carrying both an accusation and a plea. 

I twisted in their arms so I was facing the other direction and this time screamed her name out at the top of my lungs. There was no reply.

When we reached the porch, desperation took over. I could see their navy blue van parked in front of the house. I writhed and twisted, hoping to contort myself in such a manner that they would be forced to let go. They seemed to find my struggles amusing more than anything else. I dug my heels in as we neared the back on the van. 

“Let me go!” I yelled, pinning my last hopes on my voice being loud enough to concern the neighbors. One of the men opened the door to the back of the van and I was just able to discern the words on his uniform in the dim light, “Natchez Asylum,” before they threw me into the back of the car, my head slamming against the wall as I slid across the floor… thrusting me into unconsciousness. 


	6. Among the Insane

_1915  
_ _Natchez_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alice_ _is 14 years old._

I woke up alone. 

The darkness was so thoroughly oppressive that there was little to differentiate it from the black of closed eyelids, and at first I had to blink a few times to be sure my eyes were indeed open. I lay on a small cot with a thin mattress and I could feel the springs poking up into my back. 

I was still breathing.

All other variables were unknown. 

I focused on the breath, not wanting to immediately rush into untangling the string of events that had led to my being here, in this mystery room of undetermined parameters. I got the sense that I was going to have plenty of time for thinking in the future—too much, more than likely. I decided I would appreciate whatever peace I could get. 

It did not last long. And as I tumbled over so many incidents, unconnected at the time, now all so clearly leading up to me, lying here, I was filled with an emotion I despise: regret. The “what if”’s popped up like so many persistent weeds, and I desperately wished I could somehow take back every moment of strangeness that had pushed them to sending me away. The helplessness followed not long after. 

Several hours later, I realized that the thin bar of light in the space between the door and the ground illuminated the room just enough for my now adjusted eyes to make a few details out. The room was small, with unadorned walls I guessed to be made of wood, though I couldn’t be certain. I was now able to place myself as being in the corner of the room. Somehow, knowing where I was in my surroundings helped soothe my sense of being out of control. I could see a shape at the other end of the room, but was having trouble identifying it. I squinted and realized that it was a flush toilet. There was no sink. 

Upon examining the floor, I discovered that the metal frame of the bed was bolted down. 

* * *

Hours later the room began to brighten, though the effects were just barely noticeable. My eyes scanned the room. The source, I discovered, was an extremely narrow window at the very top of the wall just above me. I rose from the bed to get a better look. It couldn’t have been more than six inches high and spanned the entire length of the wall. It was covered with a metal grating and created a long rectangle of cross hatched sunlight on the wooden floor. 

At first I was bubbled over with relief, for a few hours I had truly feared a future submerged in the dark. Later, I began to hate that window and the torturous reminder it gave me of a world without walls that I had once known. The window itself sat just beyond the reach of my fingertips, the view beyond shielded from my eyes except for the thin strip of sky that was all it would reveal to me. I cursed that window… but really it was the only thing that kept me sane.

* * *

The next day, with no more warning than a sudden creaking of hinges, the band of light at the bottom of the door grew into a glowing triangle, its size rapidly increasing at an alarming speed as the door opened wider. A silhouette of a man’s head appeared in the space of white light. 

“Miss Brandon, the doctor will see you now.”

I nodded mutely and rose to my feet. I followed the man down a well lit hallway. The right side was lined with numbered doors just like the one I had emerged from and I wondered briefly if I would ever meet the tortured minds behind them. We stopped in front of a rare door set into the left side of the hall. Instead of a number, this one held a plaque upon which the words “Dr. Everton” were spelled out in bold, white letters. 

The man ushered me into the room. I looked around, vaguely taking in the very faded green walls and the lone shelf of books, before centering in on the desk that sat prominently in the middle of the room. I painstakingly studied the face of the man behind it, for my future depended solely upon his opinion of my sanity. I was taken aback by his obvious youth; he couldn’t have been older than 23 or 24. 

A pair of light, wire-rimmed glasses was perched on a delicate nose, but it was the eyes behind them that caught my attention. They were so dark that they appeared black and their depth was unnerving. But it wasn’t just the eyes. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something very slight was off. All the pieces looked fine on their own, but somehow they didn’t quite fit together right. Perhaps it was the way the harsh light gleamed off his skin in a manner somehow entirely different that it’s dull reaction to my own, or the incredible stillness with which he was sitting—for he seemed to lack even the slight expansion of the chest that one expected to mark the intake of breath. 

He stood up when I entered and offered me a very pale hand to shake. He introduced himself as Doctor Alvis Everton and motioned for me to sit in the chair across the desk from him. I was startled for a moment by the unusual coolness of his hand, but was distracted a moment later by the opening of a door I hadn’t noticed until just then. A much more appropriately aged doctor entered the room, bustling irritably with a stack of folders piled precariously high in his arms. 

“Oh good, the patient is already here this time.” He turned and addressed me, “Hello, I am Dr. Bolivar. Alvis is still in training and you will be one of ten patients under his supervision. I will be overseeing him and approving all medical decisions. I may decide to check in, but other than that you won’t be seeing me and you should consider him your doctor. Now, if you will excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to.” I noticed he directed this last statement only to Dr. Everton and tried not to feel insulted. I was glad to see him leave.

Dr. Everton frowned for a moment at Dr. Bolivar’s retreating back before turning back to me.

“Welcome to Natchez, Mary-Alice. As Dr. Bolivar already explained, I will your doctor for the duration of your stay here. Let me see…” He stood up and walked over to a large filing cabinet and unlocked one of the drawers. It only had one very thin file in it which he removed and brought over to the desk. He shuffled through the papers for a moment before finding the right one. “Ahh, here we are.” He ran his finger down the page, running his eyes over the forms, his eyebrows shooting up as he discovered some surprising scrap of information, “Biloxi? That’s usually far.”

Seeing this as a golden opportunity to wheedle some information out of him, I jumped in before he could continue. 

“And how far exactly would that be anyways? I wasn’t awake for the drive.”

Much to my surprise he chuckled, his thin lips curling into an amused smile. 

“Oh yes, it would seem Mister Chester and Mister Lloyd were a tad overenthusiastic in their efforts to ensure your safe arrival. Though I am told you were rather persistently attempting to escape… still I’m sure drugging you was overkill. They probably gave you enough to be thoroughly knocked out for twice the distance, but as it is we’re about 250 miles northwest of Biloxi, just outside Natchez. So don’t worry, you’re still in Mississippi.” I was taken aback by his nonchalant attitude—shouldn’t he be more concerned about unnecessary dispensing of drugs? 

His next question broke my thoughts in a tone that was comfortingly more formal, or at least at first. As he went on, I picked up something in his voice that seemed almost mocking, though I couldn’t be sure staring into the vacuum of black abyss behind his glasses, they pulled everything in and offered nothing in return—utterly unreadable. 

“Now, before we begin our examination, I’m going to have to outfit you in regulation Natchez attire, so if you’ll step behind that screen over there…” I eyed the grey dress he handed me with distaste, but silently obeyed. 

I reluctantly handed over my own dress, sad to part with this last vestige of my life in Biloxi. He seemed to sense my remorse because he pulled out a small metal box and placed it inside. 

“Don’t you fret, I’m just going to put it away with your files and promise that if you get released or if anyone comes to visit, you can wear it again.” I was disheartened by his use of the word “if”, but my heart lifted at the mention of visits. The possibility had not once crossed my mind. Surely Otto would come to see me. Unless, of course, he didn’t know he was allowed to… or where I was. Then again, if visits were possible…

“Do you think I could use a telephone?” The thought of seeing Otto again significantly brightened my previously gloomy prospects. 

Dr. Everton did not answer at first; instead he picked up the thin folder and shuffled through a few sheets before pulling one out.

“This is your application for admittance,” he explained. “Since you are a minor, one of your parents would have to have checked the box allowing you to make phone calls…” he scanned he finger down the paper, “but I can see here that whoever filled this out did not select that option.” 

“Do you think you could give someone a message for me?” I had to cling to one last strand of hope. He smiled, but shook his head.

“I wish I could, but it’s strictly forbidden. Any more questions before we begin?”

Over the course of our conversation, I extracted several bits of useful information. After further examination of my application, he informed me that it was my Mother, with the help of that awful doctor she had taken me to, who had admitted me. Also, with a little upside-down reading, I discovered that the Biloxi doctor had marked my status as “incurable”. Suddenly Dr. Everton’s “if” seemed a lot more encouraging. 

After that, I followed him into an adjoining room where he proceeded to measure, test, and prod until I almost began thinking wishfully of my peaceful room. 

Then it came time for me to feed this doctor the story I had concocted and pray he was able to convince Dr. Bolivar that it was true. It was simple, with a few details added in for realism, and centered mainly around the concept that I did, in fact, _not_ have any delusions to having any special knowledge of the future. When I finished, I looked up at him, trying extremely hard to let my nervousness show. His expression was unreadable as he finished his notes, but when he looked up he seemed almost disappointed. His mouth opened slightly, as if was about to say something, then sighed, changing his mind, and said instead,

“Very well, that will be all, Mary-Alice. I will call for you again in a few days.”

* * *

I soon realized that time passed very strangely when I had no way to measure it. I tried at first, using my delivered meals as markers, but I quickly lost track and gave up on the idea entirely. So all I knew was that it was the day after my third visit with Dr. Everton when, much to my surprise, someone appeared at my door. 

This time the man led me past Dr. Everton’s office and we continued to the end of the hallway. The room we entered was small and the walls were lined with shelves. Most notable was the presence of ten other girls between the ages of ten and twenty, all wearing the same shapeless grey dress that I was. The assistant who had brought me here turned me over to a gruff looking woman whose blue uniform marked her as one of the staff. She assigned me a shelf and issued me a bar of soap and a towel. 

I saw that the other girls had already begun to undress. For a second I hesitated, my adolescent self-consciousness flaring up. But then the moment passed, and I remembered where I was. I quickly slipped off the dress and placed it on my shelf. We were herded into the next room, which was slightly bigger and lined with shower heads. The gruff woman barked that we had fifteen minutes and then retreated back into the changing room. Without warning, scalding water came rushing out of the all the shower heads at once. As quickly as I could I rubbed the bar of soap over my body and lathered it into my hair. I finished early and a girl who looked to be a few years younger than me walked over. 

“You new to ‘The Nat’?”

I nodded, too surprised by the sudden social contact to answer aloud.

“What’s your name?” 

“Ma…” I started to speak, but then cut off abruptly. Otto’s voice echoed in my head; he had always called me Alice. 

“I’m Alice,” I said decidedly. It was the first time I had ever introduced myself that way. “And who are you?” I looked the girl over for the first time. She had huge brown eyes and was even tinier than I was. 

“Stella. Bella, Rella, Kella, Tella, Pella, Fella…” Her grin widened with each rhyme. I abruptly remembered that I was in an asylum and that all ten of these girls had been declared clinically insane. 

And then I remembered that I had been too.

“So who’d you get?” It took me a few moments to realize what she meant and respond. 

“Dr. Everton.” The girl giggled wildly at my answer.

“He’s cute.” She bit her bottom lip, and then grinned abruptly. 

I gave a dry laugh. The attractiveness of the opposite sex had been the farthest thing from my mind. It hadn’t even occurred to me to assess the physical merits of my doctor. I had been viewing him in terms of being my ticket to freedom and nothing else. “How long have you been here?”

Her face fell for a moment. “Two years. And I have Dr. Bolivar. Lolivar, trolivar, molivar, golivar, olivar… Oliver?” She paused for a moment before remembering her train of thought, her mouth suddenly serious. “He’s a pig, but he gets mad if I tell him that.” She laughed uncertainly.

“I met him the other day. A definite pig,” I said, hoping to somehow reassure this girl, bouncing awkwardly on the balls of her feet.

She gave a soft smile, appreciating my efforts. Then she cocked her head sideways and looked up at me. “You’re real pretty Alice. I always wished I had blue eyes.” I was taken aback by her blunt comment. Cynthia had always been praised for her beauty, but I was mostly just perceived as strange and unnerving. I realized with grim satisfaction that there was little chance of that being a problem here; strangeness was expected. There was a moment of silence, and then the corners of Stella’s mouth curled up. “Eyes… wise, lies, cries.” Her comment seemed unintentionally insightful. The list was generated randomly, but how strange that all of these were things that eyes could do or be… at least metaphorically. 

I focused my own eyes back down on Stella. She looked up expectantly, as if awaiting my approval. I gave her a faint smile, unsure of what she wanted. But it seemed that was exactly what she had been looking for, and her face lit up with the peculiar wide smile that seemed to be the only sort her lips knew how to form.

Then the water shut off and with it the opportunity for conversation evaporated. 

* * *

A month or so later I found myself in Dr. Everton’s office. At first I saw him several times a week, but I noticed the time between our visits growing longer. It had been a week since the last one. Our visits had been brief too; he took a few tests, asked a few questions and then sent me back to my room… growing less enthusiastic at each visit. It was almost as if he were bored with me. 

But something was different today. Something subtle had changed in his face. I wasn’t sure whether to be worried or excited, so I withheld both emotions until I knew which was most appropriate. I took the chair opposite his desk and waited for his usual greeting. It never came. Instead he gave me a penetrating stare. When he did speak, it was without introduction or explanation and at first I was utterly confused.

“I hope you know, Mary-Alice, that although I am not yet a full doctor, I have been dealing with patients for several years. And in that time I have encountered enough excuses and stories to write a rather long novel on the subject. Now, if you ever feel like telling me what’s really going on, I would be happy to hear your story. Please understand that sticking to the one you’re currently pleading, no matter how determinedly you do so, will not bring you any closer to being released. I suggest coming up with a new strategy.”

There was an unpleasant silence that lasted several minutes until I realized he was waiting for me to respond. I laughed. “You know I’m going to need a bit more time than that to regroup.” He seemed amused. 

“Of course. I will see you again in a few days then.” 

* * *

I fell back onto my thin mattress, my mind racing. The doctor’s words had affected me more profoundly than I had let on. I didn’t have a plan B and it was clear I was going to need one. Because the truth was not an option. I had already been down that path and knew what lay at its end. It had been incredibly stupid of me to think that my parents, or anyone, would be able to accept it… the least I could do was not make the even worse mistake of thinking so again. However, I was not left with many alternatives. 

I already knew that another tall tale of sanity would not convince him. My mind was spitting out half-formed plans at an alarming rate, all discarded as useless a moment later. Drowning in a sea of indecision, I realized that I had overlooked the most obvious possibility. 

I could choose indecision. I could tell him nothing. He would have to work purely through guesswork and assumptions. He would most likely think I was crazy, but that might be advantageous—and if it wasn’t, I could always correct him.

It was perfect.

I could not incriminate myself if I did not say anything. 

And so that is what I did. And it carried me through the next three years.


	7. Stella Portabella and the Goons

_1918  
_ _Natchez_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alice_ _is 17 years old._

Time runs in jolts and jerks at The Nat. Three years of my life have slipped away, yet it feels like an impossibly longer quantity. At the same time, I can hardly believe that it has been so long at all—rather that when this is over, I will emerge to find time has frozen in my absence and everything is as I left it. It must be some strange side effect of isolation and darkness. With so much time alone with nothing but your thoughts, the mind has to find some way to cope. 

It is hard to escape the feeling that every day is another one wasted. I shouldn’t be here. I should be in Biloxi, getting an education and preparing to face the world. It’s as if I’ve been cheated out of the life I deserve, the life I was meant to have. Just when things finally started to go my way, it was all snatched away. Like a tight bud of a flower, chopped off just as it shows the first sign of opening. And then the petals turn brittle and fall to the ground without ever blooming into the glorious rose they had so much potential to be.

These sentiments haunted me constantly at first. But if three years of solitude have taught me anything, it’s that such thoughts are better left untouched, for they do nothing but run me in downward spiraling circles of regret.

So I try to focus on the here and the now, never venturing too far into the past or the future. I have become a master at filling up time. 

My most successful exploit began about a year after my admittance. I was talking in the shower room with Stella when she made the unheralded demand, “Tell me a story.” I was taken aback, but willing enough. I supplied her with a fable my father had told me when I was a child. I distinctly remember her wide-eyed, rapt expression and how she scarcely moved for the duration of the story. When I looked up, I found myself surprised to find several other pairs of eyes watching me. Stella’s eagerness was boundless and I found myself getting caught up in her enthusiasm, promising another next shower day. I even found myself thinking wistfully of the beautiful illustrations in Father’s book and wishing I could show them to this excited child. 

That was how the idea first occurred to me. I may not have had the book’s drawings, but there was no reason why I could not supply my own. The more I thought about it, the more the idea appealed to me. Not only would it delight Stella, but it would give me something to do with my incredibly large surplus of time. And that was how I came to ask Dr. Everton for paper. 

In a rare moment of generosity—going far above and beyond what I’d asked for, a few sheets of scrap paper—he supplied me with a green, leather-bound notebook and a black pen. He even seemed slightly intrigued by my request, an odd change after months of disinterest. 

He had taken to giving me notice of impending shower days, and earlier today he had informed me that the next one was tonight. My newest project was an original, with Stella cast as its star. I was putting the finishing touches on the last drawing—simultaneously trying to stretch out the process and rushing because I had no idea exactly when I would be sent for.

* * *

Stella greeted me with an enthusiastic hug and we both changed quickly, eager to escape the watchful eyes of our guard. The other girl’s gathered around us; they had long since ceased any attempt to hide their interest. Over the roar of the shower, I shared with them the well-rehearsed scene I had concocted, memorized, and illustrated over the last two weeks. 

“Then Clunky the monkey and Stella Portabella left the castle and went back out into the wide, wondrous world to look for their next adventure,” I said, to scattered applause. My audience dispersed and I soon found myself alone in the corner with Stella. 

It was then that I gave her a good looking over. She had been losing weight over the last couple months and yet she somehow managed to be even thinner today than she had been two weeks ago. Even more disconcerting was the appearance of dark purple bruise the size of my fist just under her left knee. She noticed what I was frowning at and her expression faltered slightly. 

“Oh don’t worry about that. I hit it on the wall in my sleep a few nights ago. It’s not as bad as it looks.” I stared intensely into her brown eyes, hoping intimidation might expose a lie. She did not falter. “It’s just a bruise.” She cracked a grin. “Bruise, ruse, clues, loose.” She saw the strain in my smile and changed the subject. “So, how’re things with Everton?” She asked me this every week. I shrugged. She sighed. “Tell me what you really think,” she prodded. And somehow that was all I needed. 

“He’s so… impossible to figure out.” She smiled at me encouragingly and I continued. “Sometimes he seems so callous. Like I really don’t think he cares at all about his patients and if they get better. But I can’t hate him. He has these random moments of pleasantness, like giving me the notebook. And he can be quite funny. It’s like, if I were someone worth the effort, then he would be really nice—like he’s saving all his good qualities for someone who’s deserving of them. And I guess that’s really obnoxious of him. But it’s not like he’s supposed to be my friend, I mean I’m his patient. And even if I wasn’t, who wants to be friends with a bunch of crazies?” Stella just looked up at me pensively. 

“You’ve been thinking about that a long time.” She was right, I had. Her strange moment of perceptiveness reminded me that Dr. Everton wasn’t the only person I had trouble figuring out. I looked down at the twelve year old in front of me and for the first time, mourned her fate, locked up in this dreary institution. I had once thought that it was very simple: they were crazy and I was not. They belonged here and I was a mistake. But such things are never so black and white. Granted, there was something off with each of them. But it was far too complex to separate into neat little organized definitions. Take Helen Jones. She talks to a boy who is not there. 

Is she crazy? 

It seems obvious—hallucination is practically the dictionary definition of the word. 

But then what of that fact that it’s her twin brother—and that five years ago he was stabbed to death by a thief on the walk home from school?

Grief does all kinds of things to a person. Some of them will get you committed. 

And then there was Stella. What high crime was she guilty of that justified being locked up in a wooden crate for five years? She rhymed and she was awkward and blunt in what she said, perhaps embarrassing for parents, but thoroughly harmless. Then again, maybe not. Maybe she’s just good at acting like it. 

After all, that’s probably what they assume about me.

I looked up and scanned the room. Marie was twirling in circles under the showerhead. Stella was lying on the floor, going through the motions of making a snow angel.

I had to get out of this place. 

* * *

At this point I was used to the always unannounced appearances of men in blue uniforms who appeared sporadically to take me to see Dr. Everton, to the showers, or to a limited array of other such necessary activities that were never explained until we reached our destination. I still had no idea what their official title was, but Stella lovingly referred to them as “goons,” a name that had caught on quickly among our shower group. 

So when the door swung open that evening, I was neither surprised nor concerned. I was summoned with a simple hand gesture and I followed obediently, walking just to his left as I had countless times before. I did not recognize the room, but that was not so uncommon that it aroused my concern. It was only when, after sitting me down in the chair, he was joined by another goon, who entered the room armed with a large pair of silver scissors that glinted under the harsh electric light, that I began to get nervous. I tried not to be bothersome and waited patiently until someone deigned to explain or until such time that an explanation became clear on its own, as was my usual routine. The goon slid them open and closed a few times suggestively and a shiver ran down my spine at the gentle scraping sound. The man sneered down at me,

“Nothin’ to worry about little…” he consulted a clipboard, “Mary Alice. It’s just a little hair cut. Well, we might be cutting more than just one hair.” He snickered at his own joke. 

I felt a pang of sadness, followed shortly by a realization of how utterly ridiculous it was to feel that way. It could have something so much worse, yet I couldn’t fully suppress my unhappiness. Mother’s voice echoed in my head, _Oh_ _Alice_ _darling, never cut it. It’s too beautiful_ —but I angrily shoved that thought away. What right had she to any measure of sentimentality after all these years… after all she had done? The anger gave me the courage I had needed and I sat up straight and stared into his eyes defiantly. 

It was made clear immediately that this would be no small hair cut. The first cut was above my ear and the rest followed in an equally dramatic fashion. I couldn’t help but wince as I saw the first chunk of hair, nearly two feet long, fall downwards to settle in stark contrast to the whitewashed floor. 

At one point, when I thought he was finished, he rose and plugged something into a wall socket. I heard a loud buzzing and as he drew closer I recognized the object in his hand as an electric shaver. He made short work of the rest of my hair, leaving scarcely a millimeter of insulation. 

Midway through the shearing process, my curiosity got the better of me.

“So why, may I ask, the sudden shave after no one so much as waves a scalpel in my direction for three years?” I asked in a carefully casual tone.

“I just cut the hair,” he drawled. “They don’t trouble me with unnecessarily details. You learn not to pry pretty quick in The Nat.” He looked at me significantly. “—some more quick than others, I guess.” 

When he was finished, I ran a hand uncertainly over my head. It was the most peculiar sensation, to feel every contour of my skull…and the rough, bristly blanket that covered it.

“Up with you. I got better things to do than watch you pet yourself.” His upper lip twitched unpleasantly. 

I rose silently, as if I had not heard him, holding my head up high with every ounce of grace I had acquired in dancing lessons, and followed him out of the room.

* * *

The next day I awoke to a loud banging on my door and then a moment later rough hands shook me. My body leaped upwards into a sitting position and I looked around alarmed, blinking rapidly. I relaxed when I realized it was just another goon—though I was surprised that I should be sent for so soon after the last time. He made an indistinguishable grunt and motioned for me to get out of bed. Then he grabbed my arm and half-dragged me out into the hallway. 

In all my time at The Nat, I had never been farther from my cell than the shower room at the end of the hall. But today, instead of stopping there, we continued off to the left through an opening hung with a faded green curtain. This passage was narrower and more dimly lit… and it had none of the plain numbered doors that indicated patient rooms. We stopped in front of one of the blue doors. My eyes eagerly scanned it for information, but there were just three capitol letters that meant nothing to me: ECT. He opened the door and I followed. 

“Dr. Everton!” I couldn’t help but cry out when I saw him standing there with his clipboard. I had almost started to believe I was being dragged off to some obscure room to be murdered. He furrowed his eyebrows, surprised at the relief in my voice. He nodded towards me in recognition and then muttered something to the goon at his side. The man nodded and directed me to sit. There was only one chair and it sat, bolted to the floor, in the very center of the room. I plopped down and settled into its cushioned seat. Then the man began to strap me down with restraints.

“What the…?” My stomach twisted with fear and for a moment my vocal cords failed me. I took in several deep breaths. “Dr. Everton.” My voice cracked on the last syllable and I had to stop again to breathe. “Wha-what is going on?” I did not even attempt to keep the panic out of my voice.

He looked to the goon in confusion, and then understanding. His lips came together to form a small “O”. 

“Shit.” He ran a hand through his hair in agitation and shook his head in disbelief. “Well who was supposed to prep her?”

The goon extended his index finger and pointed it towards the doctor. “What? Well when was someone going to tell **me** that? Oh for fuck’s sake, I don’t have time for this.” He turned to me, his face suddenly serene. 

“Look, Mary Alice, I’m sorry. Someone was supposed to tell you.” He let out a sigh, reigning in his annoyance before he continued. “See there’s been a new breakthrough. It was just approved two months ago. And Dr. Bolivar recommended you for the procedure: Electroconvulsive Therapy. I really can’t explain it to you right now. The machine is already fired up and Dr. Bolivar will be here any second.”

As if on cue, Dr. Bolivar appeared, looking harried as ever. He was followed almost immediately by a goon rolling in a complicated looking machine. Dr. Everton attached an electrode to each side of my head, and even through all the fear I suddenly made the connection to the removal of my hair the night before. The goons were busy connecting wires and Dr. Bolivar stood silently in the corner, taking numerous notes on his clipboard. 

I gradually became aware that I was shaking like a leaf. 

At first, Dr. Everton seemed mildly annoyed with me, but then, in an unexpected moment of pity, he leaned over and in a soft, reassuring voice, he said “You shouldn’t worry; the shocks’ll knock you out almost immediately. You won’t feel a thing.” 

But then he turned to the goons, standing ready by the machine, and said three words that made every muscle in my body clench in terror. “Let ‘er rip”.

I saw one of the goons flip a large metal switch and the machine buzzed to life. An indescribable sensation engulfed my body for half a second.

And then I violently slammed into unconsciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Author's Notes:  
> I'm currently dealing with some historical inaccuracies: Meyer definitely said (in Twilight) that Alice had shock therapy during the 1920’s, but I've been doing some research and it seems to have not come into use until the 30's. I've been trying to be very historically accurate, so I'm disappointed that I'm going to have to deviate from that a bit. If anyone has any light to shed on the matter I would be most happy to hear it… maybe I’m missing something.


	8. Things Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See endnotes for content warning related to physical violence (spoiler alert)

_1918  
_ _Natchez_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alice_ _is 17 years old._

I awake to confusion, to find my body leaned forward, hanging loosely in leather restraints, but not to any idea of how I came to be here. My eyes dart frantically about in their sockets, trying to make sense of this unfamiliar room filled with unfamiliar people. My mind is heavy and clouded. 

A beautiful dark haired man unfastens the restraints and pulls me to my feet. It does not occur to me to work the required muscles to stand, and as soon as he lets go I collapse gracelessly to the floor. Two shorter, thicker men come forward and I am grabbed roughly under the armpits and brought once more to my feet. I notice a fourth man, quietly observing in the corner, eyes on his clipboard. He looks up impatiently, and without explanation, exits the room. 

The two men propel me forwards, half-dragging me out a second door into a narrow hallway. I can’t seem to keep my attention on anything. One moment the door is closing behind me and the next another opens before me—though I am positive time elapsed between the two events. 

This new room is unfamiliar as well, and much more unpleasant. Time skips about alarmingly. The light is stained orange from the sunset, yet minutes earlier it was bright with afternoon sunshine. 

Eventually I sleep.

* * *

Things are marginally less foggy in the morning. I don’t have much time to mull this over because minutes later—or was it hours?—the door opens and the same dark haired man from the day before enters uninvited. 

“Good morning Mary Alice,” he greets me pleasantly. But I am more interested in the name: Mary Alice. I feel no sense of surprise, yet neither can I recall acknowledging any name since I awoke yesterday. I can’t be certain I knew it until the words left his lips. I wonder about his name. Do I know it? Nothing comes to mind, yet I now feel certain that I do know this man. Perhaps it will come back as a reflex.

“Good morning, uhhhmmm…“ I trail off, my attempt clearly a failure. “Sorry, I can’t seem to remember it just now. But I know I should know it.” 

“No need to apologize Mary, some temporary memory loss is to be expected. Most of it should come back.” 

Something struck a chord within me and I spoke out, not knowing the reason for my protest. “It’s not Mary. Call me Alice.”

He looked at me in curiosity. “You’ve never told me that before. Can you remember why you want me to call you Alice?”

I struggled, though it was much easier to concentrate now than it had been the night before. “It… someone named…Otto. Yes, I’m certain that’s it. He… that’s what he called me.” 

“Was he your father?”

I shook my head.

“Well how about your family? Can you tell me anything about them? What do you remember?”

I scrunch my eyes shut in concentration. At first nothing comes, and I become frustrated. Then a tiny figment of a memory surfaces, “Cynthia. My sister. She had whooping cough and almost died. But I knew…” I trailed off suddenly, remembering the need for secrecy a moment after remembering the incident itself. To distract him, I carry on with the first thing I get a concrete grasp on. “Now I remember, Otto Norton was my best friend. But only for a month. That was when…that was when the men came.” Suddenly the pieces were all fitting together, “The men who took me to The Natchez Asylum.” The connections were reforming and information was gradually becoming available to me again. But every victory was a struggle.

* * *

My treatments continued biweekly for the next six weeks. The confusion afterwards never lessened, though I was often aware of what had just transpired, even though I could not recall the exact event. 

The memory loss was unpredictable. Sometimes I retained almost everything and the rest came back on its own a few hours afterwards. But other times I could barely remember my name, and it would take days to reconstruct everything. And then some fragments disappeared for extended periods—Otto was entirely absent from my mind for three weeks before I managed to uncover him again—and I had the lurking suspicion that quite a few things were lost altogether. 

The last session of that sixth week was particularly bad. It had taken the better part of a week to regain any semblance of my past and I was beyond pushing the limits of my patience. I looked over at the doctor, standing in front of me, prodding me incessantly with questions about a life he now knew more about than I did. And then something inside me snapped.

So instantaneous was the change in my mood that he must have been taken entirely by surprise when I suddenly lunged forward, my body crashing into his. My fists barreled into his hard, unforgiving chest and my throat expelled wordless growls of anger. 

“Damn you, you’re taking everything. My future has already been stolen; I’m already damned to rot in this godforsaken place.”

The punches slowed and the force behind them weakened until I was only going through the motions, my anger subsiding and giving way to frustration. 

“Isn’t that enough? Must you strip me of my past as well? That was the only thing I had left.” My voice dripped with desperation and on the last word I smacked the heel of my hand against him with all my strength. 

I felt cool hands on my bare arms, and with a gentle yet impossibly firm grip, he lifted my body from its proximity to his own and placed me back on my bed, sufficiently putting an end to my siege. 

For a moment he was silent, his face hard and emotionless. 

“I think that will be all for today Alice.” 

Then he turned, and without so much as another word, left me alone in the dark.

* * *

The next morning Dr. Bolivar poked his head in to announce that my formal treatment session was over, but that I would have continuation ECT to prevent relapse. They would start off at once every three months and then, after monitoring my progress, adjust the length apart as needed. Personally I had no idea how they were going to tell how much progress I was making because, as I had expected, my strange premonitions had not deviated in the slightest from their usual behavior. And either way, it wasn’t as if I had been telling the doctors about them to begin with.

I reached for my notebook, craving distraction. But when I tried to grasp the pen I felt a sharp pain and dropped it; my hands were throbbing. Each movement of my fingers was painful. I held them up into the small patch of light and was surprised to find purple bruises on my knuckles and the heel of my right hand. Strange… I did not remember feeling any pain at the time.

Several hours after sunset, Dr. Everton appeared in my room. I was unsure how to act around him after my outburst the previous day. Should I offer an explanation? An apology? I could not truthfully apologize for my actions. It was more that I was embarrassed to have shown such emotion, especially while he maintained a cool façade throughout the affair. I decided I would follow his lead, not mentioning it unless he brought it up first. 

“How are you feeling this evening Alice?” he asked in his soft voice.

“Better,” I said, answering honestly. 

“Let’s see…I wonder if sleep has coaxed out those elusive memories. Think back to your family. I want you to describe as much as you can about any serious illnesses or injuries you remember.” So it seemed we would be continuing with our usual routine. Well that was fine with me. As for his question, it shouldn’t be too hard. A big event like that would surely have made enough impact to be easily retrievable. And sure enough, after only a few seconds, one came to me. 

“A heart attack. Father had a heart attack the day I was taken to The Nat. I found him on the floor and called the hospital. Mother was mad; she thought it was my fault. But Otto helped me. That was the last day I saw him. The men came that evening and they dragged me through the house. I yelled out for Mother, I know she was home, but she didn’t answer me.” 

“Very good. Is there anything else you remember?” 

I searched the vast, chaotic expanses of my mind, but I could come up with nothing. I shook my head.

“Think hard now.” But it was useless. There was nothing.

He sighed in defeat and I knew that I had missed something.

“What about whooping cough?” I waited for the familiar wave of recognition at the words, but none came. I wrinkled my forehead in confusion. The memories had always flooded back upon his reminders before. 

“I…I still don’t remember it.” 

“That is disconcerting indeed. I did warn you that there would probably be some permanent damage.”

“I know. But still, it might…” I trailed off abruptly. My eyes and mouth widened as knowledge rippled through me. Not a forgotten memory, no this was new knowledge, acquired suddenly in that moment. 

I found myself unable to breathe. My diaphragm expanded and retracted, but the air would not suck down. 

After a minute of sheer panic, it returned in a rough gasp. My knees curled up into my chest, and my hands lifted to cradle my forehead. 

“No, no, no, no, no.” 

His silky hands grabbed onto my shoulders and he shook me gently. “Alice?” I pulled my head out from the shelter of my knees and found his obsidian eyes staring questioningly into mine. 

“Stella is dead,” I managed to choke out. Hearing the words spoken aloud somehow made it final. But then again, it might not even be final. I could feel that it was close, but if he left now…”Or at least she will be soon.” I looked straight into his eyes, trying to convey my desperation so he would understand the seriousness of my request. “You have to go…there might still be time. Please.”

He had the strangest expression on his face. Like I had suddenly grown a second head and he was trying to figure out exactly how it had happened without him noticing. But then he gave his head a shake to clear it and nodded.

“Alright.” Then he turned and left the room. I silently thanked him for not wasting time with stupid questions. It was a quality he shared with Otto, I proudly remembered.

Once he was gone, all I could do was wait. 

* * *

His was gone no more than an hour, and when he reappeared I already knew what he was going to say. 

“She was alive when I got there. It couldn’t have happened more than a few minutes before. I rushed her to the emergency wing, but…” he was shaking his head. 

“She didn’t survive the ride,” I stated. He nodded, that strange expression creeping back onto his face. “What happened?” I needed to know. 

“She fell.” But from what? “Alice, did Stella ever tell you _why_ she was committed?” 

“No. It never really came up.”

“Well, it wasn’t just her penchant for rhyming, I can assure you. Her parents never knew what was wrong with her, but almost every night they would awake to her screams as she was terrified by some unseen being. She would not respond to their pleas and sometimes shook with convulsions. They thought she was possessed by the devil, so they sent her to us. I was only Dr. Bolivar’s assistant then, so I was there to see her diagnosed as suffering from night terrors. It is something that is not very well understood, so we kept her here. And of course, you have probably noticed other things off with her as well. I should also mention that not every room in this facility is identical. Some of the older rooms, like Stella’s, have loft beds from when patients used to share rooms.” He paused, seemingly unsure whether or not to go on. But I refused to let him stop now.

“I need to know.” 

“A week ago, there was a loose board in her room, and two days ago someone went in to fix it. It seems they left several unused nails behind on the floor—and Stella, being Stella, had them all lined up in a neat little row facing point up. Then last night she had an especially bad seizure and fell… head first. I think you can guess the rest.”

“I think so.”

“Now, Alice. I think it’s time you told me what’s really going on. Why have you been misleading me for the past three years? And what truth are you covering up?” Dr. Everton was blunt and to the point. Yet he was looking at me with the most intense curiosity, and it was a strange thing to see on his usually impassive face.

“I’ll start with the Why; that’s easy enough. The only people who ever really had any idea, were my parents. You’ve seen for yourself how that turned out. They did send me here after all. As for the What, I wouldn’t tell you at all but I gather you’ve already drawn your conclusions. But you have no more evidence than they did. I wonder where you will send me.”

His eyes softened. “Alice, I am not going to send you anywhere. You must understand that I am not your parents, and will not behave in the same manner. There are some of us in this world that appreciate the extraordinary.” 

I looked at him skeptically. “You must understand…” he trailed off for a moment, as if reconsidering his intended course, “You have to understand that you are not the only extraordinary one.” He looked at me significantly, and now it was my turn to examine him with that strange, calculating expression. His hesitance and something in his tone made me realize that he had no intention to explain this statement. So I did not ask.

“You are not frightened then?” He was taken aback by my question. He gave a short laugh and muttered something too quiet for me to hear.

“Frightened? No, I’m fascinated.” I could see the sincerity in his words written clearly across his face. “I’ll come back tomorrow, but it’s nearly midnight and you need to sleep.”

“Goodnight then.”

“Sweet dreams, Alice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **content warning:** Minor character death. Cause of death is rather grisly but is not described in much detail.
> 
>  **Original Author's Note:** By the way, if anyone is interested in more information about shock treatments, I found the Wikipedia article quite informative. Or if you’re wondering where I got my information, much of it came from that site. I know I looked at a few others as well. But the exact descriptions and the nature of the memory loss were my own creation and so I do not know exactly how close they are to reality, since I did not read any personal accounts or anything. 
> 
> **Additional notes (Summarizing from Wikipedia plus my own background knowledge):**  
>  Electroconvulsive Therapy (previously known as electro shock therapy) is a psychiatric treatment that uses electricity to induce seizures in the brain.
> 
>  **Side Effects:** The most common side effect is confusion and temporary memory loss immediately following the procedure. There is also evidence that ECT can cause long-term or permanent memory loss in some patients. The American Psychiatric Association released a report in 2005 which stated, “In some patients the recovery from retrograde amnesia will be incomplete, and evidence has shown that ECT can result in persistent or permanent memory loss." Older methods of delivering ECT carry a higher risk for amnesia than more modern methods.
> 
>  **The two types of amnesia ECT causes are:**  
>  Anterograde Amnesia: loss of memory for events happening after the ECT  
> Retrograde Amnesia: loss of memory for events happening before the ECT  
> Both types can be permanent or temporary. It is more common for patients to lose more recent memories with retrograde amnesia but loss of older memories can happen. This chapter shows Alice experiences a mix of all of these types of memory loss with some losses being temporary and others more long lasting.
> 
> Significant controversy surrounding the use of ECT continues to this day but I do want to take a moment to mention that ECT is considered to be an effective treatment by modern doctors. It is used to treat Major Depressive Disorder, Bipolar Depression, Bipolar Mania, Catatonia, and Schizophrenia. It seems to mostly be a "second line" treatment that is used when other treatments have not been effective and for more severe cases. As a personal anecdote, I will share that my great aunt has suffered from severe chronic MDD (Major Depressive Disorder) throughout her adult life and ECT was the only thing that helped her depression.


	9. Strange Man

_1918  
_ _Natchez_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alice_ _is 17 years old._

I opened my eyes to a most surprising sight. Dr. Everton was at the foot of my cot, perched on the metal frame. He had my breakfast plate in one hand and a smirk on his face. It suddenly struck me how young he really was—though I remembered I had no idea exactly how young that might be. His professional and removed attitude had always served to stretch out the years between us. Also, he was missing his usual glasses that I now realized added to the illusion of age. 

“Good morning Alice. I see you’ve finally deigned to awaken.” He shifted his body so that he slid from the frame onto the mattress. 

“Dr. Everton, how old are you?” He snorted. “Come on, you know all sorts of personal medical information about me, but I don’t even know your age.

“Fine. I’ll be 64 years old in October.” I laughed.

“Alright, fair enough.”

“Now, enough of this nonsense. Don’t you want your breakfast? Not that I would, if I were you, it looks quite unappetizing.” He wrinkled his nose as he looked down at the plate in his hand. “Still, it’s sustenance. Eat up.”

I accepted the plate he handed me and consumed the bland food. Dr. Everton shuddered. 

“How do you _eat_ that stuff?” 

“How do you feed this stuff to us?” I countered. 

“Touché. Oh, but I brought you something else.” He leaned sideways and pulled something out from under the bed. 

My mouth dropped open when I set eyes on the contents of the tiny crate in his hand. Huge, succulent strawberries filled it to the brim.

“Oh my… Dr. Everton I haven’t seen a strawberry in years.” He grinned at my awe. 

“I bought them fresh this morning in town. Consider it a peace offering of sorts. Also, considering that we’ve established that you don’t have a medical condition, I think we can dispense with the formalities.”

“Well, thank you… Alvis,” I said, trying out the name. “Although I wasn’t aware there was a war to be ended, I’m not about to dispute your terms.” I eyed the strawberries lustily. He handed them over and I immediately bit in to the first fruit my hand touched. He watched with an amused expression as I closed my eyes in bliss, letting the cool juice fill my mouth. 

“Perhaps war was the wrong word. But something new has irrefutably begun. And if our previous state was war, then I’d like it if this one could be something more like peace.”

I only nodded in consent, my mind mostly focused on the sublime joy that is strawberries.

That day started a lovely precedent for those that would follow. I often awoke to find Alvis waiting for me. Or if he was not there in the morning, he almost always made an appearance at some point during the day. And with him he always brought some little treat, a hunk of salty cheese, a piece of chocolate, a handful of raisins. After a few weeks he even began bringing me alternate meals… very, very _odd_ alternate meals. He seemed to be utterly without any sense of what foods went together and what things were appropriate for which meals. He brought me steak for breakfast and made me eggs for dinner. But it was his sandwiches that were truly bizarre. He employed the most unlikely combinations of ingredients. One day it was scrambled eggs and cream cheese with liberal amounts of cinnamon. Other days he went with a theme, bringing me sliced green apples, green olives, green salsa, and oregano on mercifully not green bread.

Still, his concoctions were always an improvement over my other options. And he was going to the trouble to make all this himself when he really didn’t need to. So I tried my best to hide my amusement at his bizarre cooking preferences and instead focused on expressing my genuine gratitude. 

We soon settled into a pleasant routine and for the first time I was actually enjoying myself at The Nat. 

* * *

_1919  
_ _Natchez_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alice_ _is 18 years old._

I awoke to an all too familiar confusion. An instant later I was overcome by fury. I had retained enough for that. My eyes were still closed and I was just a tiny bit afraid to open them. If he wasn’t here, I was really going to be mad. Finally my curiosity won, and I opened my eyes. 

I found him in his usual place, across from me on the bed railing. 

“What the hell Alice?” I demanded. “No, that’s my name. God damn!” His featured showed surprise, my language wasn’t usually so crude. It soon melted into remorse, but that only proved to irritate me further. 

“Perhaps you don’t recall, but Dr. Bolivar _did_ inform you that you would be continuing the treatments. And maybe this would be a good time to remind you that it is Dr. Bolivar, and not myself who has the final word on medical decisions concerning my patients.”

I glared back silently. His face softened slightly. 

“Look, Alice,” he said, his voice pleading, “I _know_ that you don’t need these treatments, that they’re not helping you. I _know_ how much you hate them. But you have to understand that even though I know you are not crazy, the people in power don’t. And if we told them the truth, the only thing it would accomplish would be making a nice spot for me in the cell next to yours. You have to know that I don’t want to do this to you.” I continued to stare dispassionately, but I was beginning to see his logic. And he had said the wonderful words I had only ever heard in my head: _you are not crazy._

“Maybe,” he stopped to think for a moment. “Maybe I _could_ talk to Bolivar. Not the truth, obviously. And I doubt I could make any immediate change. But if I take I take it slow, reporting slight improvements… but then they’ll level off.” He nodded to himself as his plan began to form. “Yes, because the treatments aren’t helping. So then I’ll be all set up to suggest we take you off them. If I do it well enough, he might even suggest it himself.” 

I gave him a slight smile. “Okay, Alvis.”

* * *

Despite all Alvis’ grace and beauty, there was an odd undercurrent of awkwardness that occasionally surfaced. The easiest example would be his peculiar food selections. But there were other things as well. Although he was a master of impersonal relations, he sometimes seemed unsure how to act around me. Though maybe one could put that down to the fact I don’t think either of us exactly knew the nature of our relationship that had so suddenly veered from professional to something along the lines of friendship. 

I wondered what he did in his time off, in the evenings. I knew he frequently went into town to procure the ingredients for his latest disaster, but I had never bothered to ask if he was accompanied on these trips. Were there companions he visited? A lady friend he took out to dinner afterwards? Or was he, perhaps, just as alone as me? 

It seemed a reasonable explanation for his occasionally strange mannerisms. He usually remembered to give some sort of perfunctory greeting when he came in, but occasionally he just jumped ahead to some topic and it always threw me off. Today was one of those days, where his mind was already miles ahead of him and he had no time to bother with pleasantries if he intended to catch up.

“What are you going to do when you get out of here?” The words tumbled out at an alarming speed and the sentence was finished before the door shut behind him. He ambled over and plopped down next to me on the bed.

“Hello to you too,” I replied icily. I disliked when he did this. He always seemed disappointed with me; he had already had time to get himself thoroughly caught up in his eagerness, but he didn’t seem to comprehend that mine would take time to get some momentum going and that I wouldn’t just be raring to go the minute he was. I always felt seven steps behind him whenever this happened, and instead of stopping to wait for me to catch up, he kept leaping ahead, too excited to stop for a moment… leaving me to be dragged toward some goal only visible inside his head.

“Where would you go?” His determination was unbreakable, I might as well not even try to resist. So I let out a sigh and answered.

“Biloxi, of course. That’s the only place I have to go. Why are asking me this?” He shrugged his shoulders, looking downright boyish for a fleeting moment. 

“Just curious. I realized I didn’t know. But what if you couldn’t go to Biloxi, what would you do then?” What kind of question was that? 

“Of course I would be able to go to Biloxi. Why wouldn’t I? My parents would think I was cured, and I’m sure I have enough control now to hide it. They would welcome me with open arms.” 

“But just for the sake of conversation, what if you couldn’t?” I really didn’t see where he was going with this. 

“That’s stupid. There’s no reason I couldn’t?” But now he was really getting annoyed with me.

“Damn Alice, it’s just a hypothetical situation. Why are you being so difficult? What if you got to Biloxi and you found that everyone you knew was dead? Okay, there’s a reason for you. Now don’t look at me like that. They’re _not_ dead, hypothetical situation, like I said.” 

“Sorry, I just don’t see how it’s relevant to anything. But since you’re so curious, I guess I’d have to go to Natchez and find some work, considering I don’t have any money and wouldn’t be able to buy a train ticket. Or, I don’t know. Where do you live? Maybe you’d let me stay with you. At least until I got a job and somewhere to stay.” Though considering his previous anger, I wondered if that was even an option. “Or if you wouldn’t, I could try to find a boarding house or something and promise to pay them as soon as I got the money. Or I could offer to clean and cook for some family and hope they’d let me stay in an extra room. I’d like to go back to school, but I probably wouldn’t be able to for a while. But some day I would, as soon as I saved up enough money.” I purposefully provided as detailed and long a response as I could, in the hopes that it would placate him at least a little.

His expression changed immediately. That was another of those odd things; his mood shifted much more abruptly than anyone I had ever met. One minute he was getting increasingly more frustrated with me, and the next his features softened and he looked almost sad. There was something pitying in his eyes. He reached one hand across the bed to where I was sitting cross-legged and gently patted my ankle. His touch was startlingly cool.

“Alice, I’m sorry. I’m easily frustrated; I really didn’t mean to get angry with you. And I insist that if you ever find yourself without a place to hang your hat you come stay with me.” His remorse was sincere and I found it hard not to forgive him. I laid my much smaller hand upon his larger one, still resting on my ankle, taking it in mine and giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

He cracked a wide grin. 

“I hope that means I’m forgiven. I wouldn’t want to lose you as my friend.” And so in that moment, our unsure relationship was defined for the first time. Alvis was my friend, and the only one I had left. I would have to take better care to hold on to him. For his question made me realize that, other than my family, I had no one I could turn to in case of disaster. 

* * *

It was around late June and I was worried Alvis wouldn’t come today. The night before had been one of our biggest arguments yet, and despite how mad I had been, I desperately hoped he would not ignore me. Such thoughts occupied me for most the day, but after dinner there was a knock on my door and I was flooded with relief… and then confusion as sunlight lit up the face of the man who entered.

For it was not Alvis, but a short, blonde goon. “The doctor would like to see you in his office.” I followed silently, my mind racing. In his office? I hadn’t been to Alvis’ office in months. I had almost forgotten that he even had an office and that I was once someone he would send for to meet him there. My apprehension grew as we made our way down the linoleum hallway. 

Alvis was sitting with his feet up on his desk and a crooked smile on his face. “Hello Alice, do take a seat. Or actually don’t, as I’ll be wanting you to get back up in a moment.”

“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, _Doctor_.” 

“Well, two things. First off, I realized something. You’re tiny.” 

I laughed. He really was a strange man. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Oh don’t be sullen. I just realized you’ve barely grown since you came here, and I was wondering how tall you are anyways. Besides, you might have some sort of height deficiency, and it is my job, as your doctor, to keep an eye out for such things.” He grabbed my hand and dragged me into the back room. Obligingly I stepped on the scale and waited as he adjusted the metal bar so that it rested on the top of my head. I then scooted aside without being told.

“Goodness, you’re only four feet ten inches. You know, you were four feet nine and one half inches when you arrived here. In four years you’ve only grown half an inch. That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, I appreciate you rubbing it in,” I grumbled. 

“I wonder why that is,” he mused, ignoring my previous comment altogether.

“I dunno. It could have something to do with multitude of times I had strong currents of electricity run through my body by clueless doctors.” 

“I suppose. But I’ve never heard of shock therapy having that effect. Still, anything’s possible.” He sounded almost cheerful.

“I hope you realize how not reassuring that is to hear from a doctor.” He shrugged his shoulders. “So what was the second thing?” 

He inhaled deeply and I immediately realized that this was the main act, everything that had come before it, this whole business of my height had been nothing but stalling. “I wanted to show you something.” He beckoned with his hand and I followed him back into the main room of his office. 

“Well, what is it?” I sensed he could use some prodding.

“Right. Well, I’m not sure if you remember, but there was a conversation we had quite a few months ago. I lost my cool with you a bit. I was just trying to gauge your reaction to something without letting you actually know what it was. Only afterwards did I realize that perhaps it wasn’t the best idea.” 

He was rambling and I still had no idea what he was talking about. But I could tell this was a subject that was somehow difficult for him to talk about, so I exercised self-restraint and kept quiet. If I let him talk long enough he would probably get to the point, but if I interrupted him he might lose his nerve and never tell me.

“Do you remember me asking you what you would do after you left The Nat?” 

_That_ conversation? I nodded and looked up at him expectantly. He had peaked my curiosity. 

“Well… what if it wasn’t just a hypothetical situation? What if you really couldn’t go back to Biloxi, not ever?” I felt a sharp intake of breath fill my lungs and panic twist in my stomach.

“What do you… oh god, they aren’t actually dead are they? No no, you couldn’t… that would be far too cruel.” Alvis looked alarmed and quickly placed his thin, pale fingers on my shoulders and bent his knees significantly until we were eyelevel. I stared into those infinite black depths, seeking some shred of reassurance.

“Alice, Alice, calm down. No one’s dead. Well…”

“Well what?” I demanded, terrified by the hint of a qualification to his previous statement.

“Really, your family is fine. Otto is fine. Everyone in Biloxi is fine.” I let out a sigh of relief.

“But then, I don’t understand.” He made a noise of frustration. 

“Maybe it would be better if I just let you see the article.” He unlocked one of the drawers in his filing cabinet, the one I knew to be mine, and shuffled through papers for a moment before removing a wrinkled newspaper, yellowed with age. He placed it down on the desk and turned it towards me so I could read it. I glanced at the top and gasped in recognition. I saw in bold, curling letters the words “ _Biloxi Daily Press_ ,” the daily newspaper of my home town. 

Alvis unfolded the paper, searching for something. About halfway in, he found whatever it was and refolded the newspaper, setting it down in front of me. He pointed to a headline that read “Brandon Family Grieves”. I glared at him. He had promised that everyone was okay. But then what…? I temporarily squashed aside my questions and set my eyes on the article. 

As my eyes made their way further down the faded page, I felt all the little pieces slowly falling into place; the questions, the qualification, the desire to keep this from me. Suddenly it all made sense. I hadn’t noted the date of the paper at first, but after I was finished I consulted the top of the page to confirm what I already suspected. This newspaper was from 1915, the year I was committed to The Nat. 

As for the article, it detailed the unexpected death of the eldest Brandon daughter. 

So it would seem Alvis was right. I could never return to Biloxi. Someone _was_ dead. Me.

He reached over and patted my head. “You know, my offer still stands. If you don’t have a place to go when they sign the release papers, then there will be an empty bed waiting for you.” Finally, I realized the significance of his offer now that this was the most likely outcome.

“Thank you, Alvis,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster. “But I have to wonder… you took such care not to bring it up all those months ago, so why the sudden change of heart?”

“Well, Dr. Bolivar just approved my suggestion that you be taken off the ECT.” I would have thought it impossible to smile, considering the betrayal I had just uncovered, yet somehow I felt the corners of my lips twitch. “It could still be months, or more likely years until you’re released. But I knew this would be the beginning of hope. I couldn’t let you start making plans for a future that could never exist.”


	10. The Recruiter and the Arsonist

_1920  
_ _Natchez_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alvis is 23 years old._

You would think that one such as I, physically superior in every way, would not be so easily fooled by a human. It is, of course, extremely difficult to lie to a Vampire. Detection does not require any special gifts; our superior senses are enough. And so, when that horribly contrived story left her mouth, I heard with distinct clearness the quickening of her pulse and smelled the slight rush of adrenaline that suddenly coursed through her body. No, my mistake was not that I had believed her, but rather that I had so completely missed the truth of what she was actually trying to cover up. How could I know she was so different from everyone else I had encountered? How could I know she was more than a frightened child, with just enough sanity to understand the instincts of self-preservation? How could I possibly know what she was really hiding? 

But I _should_ have known. It is my job to know. She was the exact thing I had been looking for, the reason I had exiled myself away to this unhappy place. And yet she so expertly outwitted me that I did not realize what I had right under my nose for three years.

And then it happened. Even if my memory was not eternally picture perfect, I would have remembered that moment, when all was revealed to me, with utmost clarity. The way her sentence trailed off into nothingness and her entire body stiffened, mouth and eyes wide with shock. The way those blue orbs suddenly sparkled with intensity and then the declaration of impossible knowledge. And somehow, even then in that moment, I must have known that I had made an unthinkable oversight.

This insignificant, reclusive, midget of a girl—who under different circumstances could have been my next meal—transformed before my very eyes into something altogether different.

I was fascinated. 

And the more I got to know her, the more she intrigued me. She was funny and clever; and I had never realized it in all the three years we’d been meeting in my office. And of course, her potential as a Vampire was almost unlimited.

We argued occasionally, though I rarely understood why. I hadn’t worked with sane humans in far too many decades and for the life of me I could not make sense of her reactions. The strangest things would upset her and then I would have to find some way to apologize without letting her see that I didn’t actually know what I had done. But for the most part things went fabulously. I started formulating plans to break her out.

She had, after all, been my ticket out of here all this time. It was frustrating that after years of blindness, after finally finding her, I could not immediately depart. I had to gain her trust, or she would never come with me and never believe me when I told her the truth. And if I took her by force, she would never trust me at all. But I am a Vampire; I know how to be patient.

And patient I was for nearly two years. It was a longer stay than I had anticipated, but it became necessary after certain events. For I became aware that someone was following me. I found myself under the constant surveillance of a pair of burgundy eyes. His utterly uninteresting face appeared everywhere I went, his intense gaze inescapable. I could not fathom what he wanted, but I knew any thoughts of stealing off with Alice had to put aside. I could not risk her. I knew that if it came to a fight I could never win. 

For I was unusually weak for a Vampire, something I had come to terms with long ago. Besides, I had other things of value. That was why the Volturi gave me this job. It was perfect for me, really. I was The Recruiter, combing America’s insane asylums for those who were truly “special”, and not just mentally deranged as the parochial humans assumed. It was my task to find those talented humans that would make for especially powerful vampires. It was a non-confrontational assignment, the only sort I could take on.

It was my gift that singled me out as the prime candidate for this job. For where I was lacking in strength of the body, I more than compensated for it with strength of the mind. Aro was astonished when he first learned of it. He said he had never seen anything like it since Carlisle Cullen; which of course wasn’t really the same at all. While Carlisle’s control came from centuries of practice and determination, my own was as instinctual and effortless as Aro’s mind reading. It was the gift of control—not of others, but of myself. My thirst, among other things, could be willed out of existence whenever necessary, which meant I had no trouble with an undercover mission such as this one. 

But no matter how useful I was to the Volturi, I would be no use at all to Alice if this vampire attacked us. As the months dragged on, I began to despair that he would ever leave me alone. I had to get Alice out of here soon. I could see the effect her prolonged stay was having. It does not do to lock a human alone and out of the sun for so long. 

I would try to wait him out. The Volturi would be irritated if I requested an escort. It was an extremely embarrassing thing for a Vampire to be unable to protect himself. Since I represented them, they would take this embarrassment personally. And one generally does not irritate the Volturi. In fact, most will go to great lengths to avoid such a situation. 

* * *

Only in the past few weeks I had noticed a sudden increase in sightings of my follower. I tightened my watch on Alice, an easy undertaking since I enjoyed her company and found little else to hold my interest. Some days I left only to let her sleep.

This particular afternoon we found ourselves on the floor of Alice’s room. She was contentedly consuming an entire jar of peanut butter with a spoon. No matter how much food I was able to sneak her, Alice always seemed to be hungry. She had been thin when she first arrived, but now her shabby, dirty dress hung off her body in way that hinted at ailing health. I _really_ had to get her out of here. Despite her happy façade, I could see that she was wasting away.

Yet she never let on, even for a second. But more than that, I don’t even think she realized it herself. I watched as a lock of greasy hair fell into her eyes and she directed a blast of air from between her lips to whisk it away. 

“You know, you should be thanking your lucky stars you have enough hair for that to be a problem.” 

She let out a half-laugh and grinned. “And whose fault is it that it was ever not a problem?” she grumbled.

“Don’t be a Gralice,” I taunted, quoting Stella.

Alice just looked at me blankly, raising one eyebrow slightly.

“You don’t remember, do you?” I said, my voice turning serious. 

“No,” she sighed. “So what does that mean?”

“Oh, it’s something Stella used to say when you were being a grump.” I frowned slightly, wondering if her memories would ever return. By this time she had virtually no recollection of her life before The Nat, left only with my retellings of the stories she had first imparted to me. But more disturbing yet, was the odd collection of recent events that were only semi-permanent, gone one day, back the next—thought I soon found that once something started to slip, it was only a matter of time before it was gone for good.

I inhaled an entirely unnecessary lungful of air, and then froze. Intermixed with all the usual smells—antiseptic, blood, food, rust,—was something entirely different, something that did belong in that familiar swirl of odors. I sniffed the air once more to be sure, and there it was… the unmistakable scent of a vampire. 

Alice furrowed her eyebrows and looked at me questioningly. 

“I’m afraid something has come up. I’ve just remembered.” I kept my voice neutral and she seemed appeased, at least for the moment.

“All right then. Do come back soon.” I nodded vaguely, already on my way to the door. 

The scent proved no trouble at all to follow as I made my way through the meandering hallways. I walked with purpose, my spine ramrod straight, taking advantage of every inch of my height. I allowed my anger to just peek out from under the surface and put a threat behind my eyes, but not so much that I would appear even in the slightest bit out of control. The set up was key. This vampire did not know of my weakness and if I could appear intimidating enough, perhaps I could bluff my way out of a fight. That was, of course, if he was even looking for trouble at all. But whatever else he was looking for, I felt sure he was here for me. 

My nose tested the air in front of a green door, this was it. I opened it slowly but firmly. It was the vampire who had been following me. I took several steps into the room and shut the door behind me. He did not seem to be making the first move.

“Perhaps you are not aware, but you have stepped into my territory—I must ask that you don’t hunt within these walls or this town.” This was a standard procedure, asserting my authority without being confrontational.

“Of course. I will respect the boundaries you state. Well, with one exception.” 

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“The girl.” Alice. It had to be. But how could he know about her? 

“There are many girls here, to whom do you refer?” 

“Do not play games with me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, you have never been here before, and the patients do not go out.”

“Come now, my good vampire, surely you didn’t think this poor excuse for an institution had the money to soundproof its walls—though I doubt very much that could stop the superior hearing of one such as ourselves.”

“Who are you anyways? What right and what reason have you to come in here and make demands? I don’t imagine the _Volturi_ would be pleased if they heard you had interfered with their operation, especially when it was going so well.” 

It was blatant name dropping, but was an effective tactic that had proved itself countless times before. 

“Because I did my research, Alvis C. Everton. And I happen to know that the Volturi aren’t keeping very close tabs on you. They haven’t checked up on you in over a decade, have they Alvis? I’m sure they’ll come eventually, there must be _some_ reason they sent you here. But should this altercation unfortunately end in your demise, I imagine they will assume you died in the fire along with the rest of them. My name is James, by the way.”

“What fire?” I let the anger rise to another level and bore with intensity from my eyes into his.

“Did I forget to mention that? The one I started on the other side of the building earlier. Don’t you smell the smoke?” He looked at me curiously. I had subconsciously turned down some of my less useful senses so as to better focus on my opponent, but as soon as I lifted the block I picked out the thick odor from the swirling mix of other smells. I growled at him in anger. 

I heard a noise and saw a flash as he struck a match, illuminating the dark room. He picked two large sticks up from the floor with one hand. One end of the sticks was swathed in dripping cloth and when he brought the lighted match to the fabric, they instantly ignited into burning balls the size of Alice’s head. He took a step towards the door, holding a flaming torch in each hand.

He leapt forward, foot extended. The door was freed of its frame and fell to the ground under him. Then he turned his head back to me for a moment, black eyes glinting maniacally in the firelight.

“Save her, if you can. But I’ll be waiting for you in the forest.” And with that he launched himself into the hallway. He ran, arms extended, holding back his speed just enough not to extinguish his blazing munitions, leaving a wake of fire as he whirled past. In an instant, I too was gone, hurtling down the fire-rimmed hallway as fast as I could.

I tuned in to all my senses, searching for anything, some sign. Then I heard it, a voice—faint but growing steadily louder as I approached. 

“ALVIS, IT'S LOCKED! ALVIS! ALVIS SAVE ME!” 

Then the shouting stopped for a moment, and had my heart still functioned, it would have stopped too. Was I already too late?

“ALVIS, HURRY!”

I redoubled my efforts; I had to get there in time. 

“Alice, I’m coming” I whispered to the flames.

* * *

 _1920_  
 _Natchez_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alice_ _is 19 years old._

I stared through the darkness at the space where I knew the door frame was and waited for Alvis’ return. It was only minutes after he left that I smelled the smoke. It was very faint, and at first I thought I was imagining it. But as the seconds passed it only became stronger. I prayed that Alvis would return quickly. 

I looked up at the window and saw the blurred silvery sphere of the moon obscured by a screen of smoke. I began to panic. Desperately, I tried to remember something, anything I had been told about fire safety. But as always, those memories were lost to me. So I turned to my instincts, to see if any useful piece of information had managed to lodge itself in my subconscious. 

“Smoke…” I muttered to myself, nodding my head slightly in concentration. “Bad for your lungs…you can suffocate…clearest air is…the clearest air is nearest the ground!” It seemed my mind was not completely useless after all. I quickly dropped to the floor. My eyes fell on the cot, just barely illuminated by the moonlight. The wide blanket trailed onto the floor and gave me an idea. I dragged myself across the floor, using my elbows to propel myself forward. When I reached the bed, I lifted the blanket up and slid underneath, hoping that the thick wool would shield me from some of the toxic air that was slowly filling the room. I regulated my breathing, some part of me understanding that the less contact my lungs had with the smoke, the better. 

I could feel the air thickening and coughed once. I was going to die in here like a rat in a cage. Like all those women in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. Just like them I was going to be burned alive, locked in a room while my superiors fled to safety. Only unlike the women in that fire, _my_ window was grated over. There would be no escape.

Desperation began to take over. Despite the logical part of my brain, which knew that if Alvis was close enough to hear me he would have smelled the smoke and come to free me, I began to yell.

“ALVIS, IT'S LOCKED! ALVIS! ALVIS SAVE ME!” I doubled over coughing. “ALVIS, HURRY!”

I peaked out from under the blanket and immediately my eyes smarted, suddenly assaulted by the unfiltered smoke. Across the room I saw an orange glow, seeming to come through from the other side of the wall. It was only a matter of time before the flames dissolved it entirely. I ducked back into my woolen cave, coughing again. I lay myself gently down on the floor, trying to relax my breathing. There was always a chance that some opportunity, some way out of here, would present itself. And I intended to be alive when it did. 

Suddenly there was a thunderous boom and I felt the floor reverberate. This was it. This was the end. But then…

“Alice? Alice, where are you?” an urgent voice called out. Alvis.

I rolled out from my hiding spot, coughing. Wordlessly he crossed the room and scooped me into his arms. I noticed then that the door had fallen from its hinges and lay across the floor of my room. Alvis surveyed the hallway, strategizing. I gasped as I saw the sea of fire that stretched out in both directions before us. A moment later we were off, Alvis leaping over flames at an impossible speed. My body lurched with centrifugal force as we turned abruptly into a room. Alvis sat me down on a desk and disappeared through a door. I realized we were in Alvis’ office. It had been thus far unaffected by the flames, but surely he did not think it would last much longer. Alvis appeared again, only seconds after his departure with a bucket full of water. Without any explanation he picked it up and emptied its entire contents over my head. I sputtered in shock.

“That will hold the flames for a little bit.” I had never seen his face so serious. His eyes glinted dangerously.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. Come on, I have to get you out of here.” Once more I found myself in his arms, flying through the air at unspeakable speeds. The hallways had grown incredibly hot and I could see flames licking at my shoes. And then he whipped his body around, still propelling us forward so that when we smashed through the wall it was his back and not my face that took the brunt of the force. But he seemed utterly unfazed about having thrown himself through a thick wooden wall, an impossible feat, and merely whipped back around and continued at what seemed to be an exponentially faster pace into the woods. The trees ran together like melted wax and my mind spun. The walls must have been weakened by the flames, that was the only explanation. But then, thinking of the Nat…

“Alvis wait, you have to go back.” 

“Sorry, no can do.” He increased his speed, as if to make a point.

“Alvis please! Think of the other patients. None of them deserve to die this way, locked up like animals, slowly cooked to a crisp,” I pleaded.

He shook his head firmly. “Alvis, I’m out. I’m safe now. Put me down!” I beat my hands against his chest and tried to wiggle free, but his tight grasp never faltered.

After a few minutes his pace began to slow. Perhaps I had convinced him. He set me down in the middle a tiny clearing in the woods. It was the middle of the night now, but some moonlight filtered through the trees and I could see his face. There was fear etched in his eyes, something I had never thought I would see. Then he began to whisper, urgency in his voice. 

“Alice, I don’t have time to explain everything. But… I’m not what you think I am. Not even close. I’m not your friend. And you’re _not_ safe. Someone is after you, after you because of me. I don’t understand it myself. But it won’t be long before he finds us. I have to make you safe. And I _can_ , Alice. I can make you stronger than you could ever imagine and so safe that he will never hurt you. I…” his equivocation trailed off suddenly, his face torn. Silently, he begged me to understand, to forgive him for something he could not explain.

His lips parted slightly, and the moonlight glinted off his teeth. He leaned down and placed something on the floor next to me. He pulled me to my feet and wrapped his arms around me in a hug, his face nuzzled against my neck. He squeezed me tightly and I _knew_ that this was another person I would never see again. So I squeezed him back. Why was it that the few people who cared about me must always leave?

Then something ripped into my neck, where his face was still pressed against it. It took everything in my power not to cry out. He stepped away then, sliding out of my grasp and carefully laying me back onto the forest floor. I watched in horror as he wiped something dark and wet off of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Alvis,” I whispered, my mind somehow still able to remember its previous agenda. “Alvis, you have to go back and save them.” I heard him sigh faintly.

“I’ll try. But he’s going to be very upset when he sees what I’ve done. But I promise you I will free as many as I can before he gets me.” Then a mournful expression came over his face. “Oh Alice,” his said, despairingly. 

He dropped down so that his face hovered above me, and then I felt the inhuman coolness of his lips as they brushed against mine. 

It only lasted less than a second and I was far too shocked to say anything. When I looked up I saw his retreating back for a moment before it disappeared into the darkness of the forest forever. 

Then the pain came. I thought I had escaped the fiery inferno yet something was most assuredly burning my neck. I touched the spot, but felt only the warm wetness of my own blood. Localized at first, it spread quickly, my nerves igniting one by one as it crept down my arm. Electricity ten times stronger than any I had experienced by machine raced through my veins and instead of the relief of unconsciousness, I found myself torturously aware. 

This time I could not hold back the scream that escaped my lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Original Author's Notes:** Hoo hoo I have been planning this chapter for a long time. I was quite excited that the time had finally come to write it, though I will miss writing about Alvis and Stella. I do hope James was sufficiently creepy. 
> 
> I almost feel as if “part 1” is over, and a whole new section is going to begin.
> 
> By the way, if anyone was wondering why Alice, or anyone else for that matter, doesn’t notice Alvis' red eyes (yes they would be red, he does drink from humans), I DO have an explanation. It just wasn’t important enough to make it into the story, but I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I was just careless. As part of his power Alvis is able to control the stage of hunger his eyes reflect. So whenever he’s around humans he makes them black.
> 
> I also hope you all enjoyed the change in POV. As you can see, there was a lot about Alvis that Alice was never going to find out. I needed people to understand him just a little bit, and hopefully see why he is not right for her. Also, I saw this happening a lot with people’s reactions to Alice’s mother… so let me just say that you should not try to classify Alvis as good or bad, they are both more complicated than that. 
> 
> **The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Tragedy:** : In 1911, a garment factory in a New York City high rise caught fire, leading to the death of 146 garment workers. One of the reasons the fire was so deadly is because all of the exit doors were locked, a common practice at the time to reduce theft and stop workers from taking extra breaks. The factory was on the 8th-10th floor and many people who could not get out jumped from the windows, falling to their deaths. [summarized from Wikipedia]


	11. A Strange Exchange

_1920  
_ _Natchez_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alice_ _is 19 years old._

My eyes blink open. I am conscious. The transition is so fast I am not aware of the change as it happens. All I knows is that I am awake—or at least conscious. I cannot be certain what state I have just left, only that I am no longer in it. Above me the forest canopy looms. My eyes focus in on a tiny spider slowly lowering itself on a silken thread from one of the highest branches. I watch as he lands delicately on a leaf and scuttles out of sight. Then it occurs to me that my eyesight was never this good. I try to think back, to remember how things looked before, but no images come. I try to remember anything at all. I can’t.

Panic bubbled up in my stomach. “Come on Alice, your mother’s name is…agghh.” I punched the ground in frustration… and my fist drove through the ground as if it were no more substantial than a pool of water. 

“Alice! My name. My name is Alice.” I allowed my hands to unclench. I took in a deep calming breath. The cool air stung the back of my throat. I swallowed, hoping to dispel the uncomfortable itch. Instead this aggravated it and I felt the desperate need for relief. I rubbed my hands against my throat in agitation. But how does one scratch an internal itch? I thought hard, trying to dredge up something, some memory from my past to help my now in the present. But once again, there was nothing. 

I tried to think more abstractly. It was clear my brain was functioning fine. I was able to form words, so there must be some things still buried in there… subconscious things. I stared off into the forest, eyes unfocused, searching. My eyes landed on something out of place, a patch of yellow standing out brightly against the dark brown of the forest floor. It was a dress, a beautiful one at that, though dirty from the damp ground. I then glanced down at my own clothes for the first time and gasped in surprise. Most of the shapeless grey dress was stained a rusty red color. I examined it more closely. Blood, I concluded. Mine?

I sniffed the air, sorting through a myriad of smells, slowly picking them apart until I found the one I wanted. Then, dress in hand, I took off towards the body of water I had smelled. Mere seconds later I found myself on the banks of a small river. I pulled off the ruined garment and began to cleanse my body of the blood and dirt adhered to nearly every inch. The water was surprisingly pleasant, not nearly as cold as I would expect, and once my body was clean, I discovered that my skin was a glimmering bone white. I ran back to the clearing—somehow remembering exactly how to get there—and was pleased to find my body completely dry when I arrived. I slipped into the yellow dress, which was only a little small on me. 

I gazed up at the forest canopy again, and then suddenly my eyes refocused, but instead of the sharp details of the trees in front of me, I saw my own retreating back. 

_Alice_ _walks out of the forest and into the small town that lies on its edge. The sun has just begun to rise and only a few people are out. A small boy approaches her, a blue ball in his hand. Her muscles clench and she leaps forward, landing right next to him. He looks around in terror, but her teeth are already ripping into his neck._

 _He screams and several women run over. A man waves a rifle and starts yelling. The boy falls to ground. The man tries to hit_ _Alice_ _with the rifle, but she pulls it out of his hands and throws it aside, leaving deep dents in the metal from her fingers. He is the next to go. A man punches with all his might into her jaw. There is an awful crunching noise and he cries out in horror as the bones in his fingers snap. Dark blood drips from the wound. She lunges._

With a great amount of effort I managed to pull myself out of this… memory? But it did not have the same feeling of familiarity that I had with my name. I did not think I had ever seen or experienced these events. And the whole thing was…strange. Especially compared with the increased clarity of my vision, this was so different. It was as if I was viewing everything through a thick haze. And things would change, people who had been in one corner would disappear mid-step and reappear somewhere else entirely. I was sure the boy had been carrying a blue ball, but when I attacked there was nothing in his hands. It was as if the details were not quite set. As if it hadn’t happened yet. 

It would seem that I had traded my past for the future.

So I was going to massacre a village… or might. I looked down at my thin, delicate fingers in wonder. In a matter of days they could be tearing flesh from bone with no more compunction than the lion as he rips into a gazelle. But if this was in response to that terrible itch, which was becoming more painful every second, I worried that I might not be able to hold out. And the girl in the vision, the possible Alice that was not yet but could be, had seemed to lose all control. There must some terrible, all-consuming draw that I would not be able to overcome. 

But was that all the future could hold? Again I relaxed and began to search.

_A red haired man walks down the street with his arm wrapped tightly around a beautiful blonde woman. They turn off into a dark alleyway. It is too dark to see, but I can hear her screams._

_A sensuous brunette in a red cocktail dress enters an occupied stall in the women’s lavatory._

_A still image this time: just a man draining a child from its shoulder._

_A dozen men in a room full of tourists. The doors lock._

I pulled out, gasping this time from the mental effort. I was unpracticed and had been concentrating very hard. 

I lay back down on the forest floor. Was I destined for a future of violence and solitude? I breathed deeply and closed my eyes, trying to relax. After a few minutes, I opened them again and let them wander aimlessly through the dense foliage. I glanced to my left and my eyes focused on a tree in a different forest.

_A blonde man and a younger, dark-haired male run through the forest. They stop. The young one crouches down behind a tree. He gracefully scales the trunk and settles into one of the higher branches. Staying completely silent, he leaps forward and lands on top of a coyote, crushing it to the ground. He swiftly snaps the neck and drinks._

My eyes refocused onto the tree in my own forest. It seemed that I had a choice. I could forever separate myself from a humanity I did not even remember… or I could do as these men did. I could save that village. Now I saw the reason for the haze, the uncertainty. It was dependent on my decision. If I did not walk out of the forest, then it would not happen. For the first time, I began to understand just how powerful I had become. 

* * *

After the first time hunting, I did not have to wonder at the strange force that had taken hold of me in the vision. I could only imagine the frenzy I found myself in around animals multiplied tenfold in the presence of a human. I was weak; I knew I would not be able to control myself. At first I despaired ever leaving the forest. But as the months rolled by, I began to notice a most subtle change. I was able to resist just a fraction of a second longer each time. I knew that it would take time, and probably a lot of it, but now that I had hope the future looked decidedly brighter. 

To pass the time I often went searching for visions. I soon discovered that the vast majority were of vampires. I also discovered that I couldn’t just blindly look into the random future, I had to have something specific in mind. So I frequently looked in on the pair I had seen that first day, the ones that had unknowingly led me to this alternate way of living. Sometimes I got nothing more than still images or snippets of dialogue too short to understand. In some of the blurrier images I saw the blonde one, whose name I came to learn was Carlisle, with his arm around a female vampire with a kind face. At first I found it strange that I should know who his mate would be before he did. But it was a feeling I learned to get used to.

And then one day, maybe a year into my new existence, I saw him. 

_A man with honey-blond hair walks along an empty dirt path. A teenage girl appears, walking in the opposite direction. She stops and tries to talk with him, clearly impressed with something. “Hey there, what’cha doin’ out here all alone?” She actually bats her eyelashes at him._

_He snorts in disgust and tries to move away from her._

_She grabs on to his arm. “Don’t be in such a hurry to leave, we only just met.” His body stiffens and he twists his arms away violently. I hear the snap of her wrist breaking and she cries out, clutching it to herself, quivering in fear. He backs her up against a tree and then squeezes a hand around her throat. Her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates and she struggles to break free. Then a moment later he is at her throat and she stops struggling. The vampire looks around and quickly buries her next to the tree._

_He turns around and for the first time I see his face, crimson eyes bright. Then he sinks to the ground, his body shaking, all the hardness gone from his eyes._

I wasn’t entirely what it was that caught my attention. As my visions were mostly of vampires, I had witnessed countless attacks, what was so special about this one. I dwelled on the slight change in his eyes just before the vision cut out. It had been something almost like regret. There was also a haunting beauty to his face. Of course I had seen hundreds of vampires, nearly all of them gorgeous beyond belief. But there was something different about him. I found myself inexplicably intrigued. 

He had piqued my curiosity and I closed my eyes to relax. The change happened only a moment after my eyes opened.

_The man enters a small, dirty room. On the couch sits a woman with shining chestnut hair that hangs to her waist. She smiles up at him._

_“Hello Maria,” he says in a soft voice._

_“Where have you been all day?”_

_He shrugs. “Out.” Then he turns away from her and a troubled expression comes over his face once it is out of her view. He leaves the room._

I sighed as the vision slipped away. It had not been totally useless. He had a companion; that was interesting to know. Were they lovers? There had been nothing intimate in their behavior, but of course I had seen only a tiny snippet. Still, I thought that he would not have hid his face that way if they were. I was eager to see more of him, but a different vision came to me unbidden.

 _Carlisle_ _walks down a hospital hallway. He looks around the empty hallways for a moment and then enters the morgue. His eyes shoot up in surprise. He rushes over to one of the corpses and puts his head near her chest. Then he pulls it away and studies her face. “Esme?” he whispers in wonder. He leans over next to her ear, “Keep quiet and don’t move.”_

 _He wheels the stretcher out of the morgue. He stands up straight and walks with purpose. No one asks him where he is going. He wheels her into a room. The color of the walls keeps changing, but_ _Carlisle_ _is definite. He carefully scoops her into his arms. A small noise escapes her mouth. With one hand he unlatches the window and leaps out into the forest below. Things blur for a while and when they clear he is in a house with Edward, the young, dark-haired one. Edward leaves the room. Carlisle bites her neck, her ankles, her wrists. She begins to scream._

_Edwards sits on the back porch. He hears the screams and puts his hands over his ears, as if that could help. “Good god, he’s changing her.”_

I was startled by this revelation. This must be how I came to be what I am. But I had no memory of the pain that I assume was the cause of Esme’s violent screams. And what of the person who changed me? Esme will wake up to find Carlisle there to comfort her and explain what has happened. But no one had been there for me. I had woken up alone. I had been abandoned. 

Then I considered the way I knew most Vampires to be. If there had been a person to show me what I was, would he not also have shown me the ways of drinking humans? I might never have sought out the vision of Carlisle and Edward. I shivered for a moment. For the first time, I was glad to be alone.

And alone I was for the next eleven years, wrapped up in my visions, waiting until such time when I would be strong enough to venture out among the humans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it is taking me a bit to get all of these chapters uploaded! I'm trying to re-read them to check for typos, so it's taking a bit of time but I'll try to get at least one up each day. Please take a moment to stop and leave a comment if you're enjoying this so I know taking the time to repost this story was worth it<3
> 
>  **Original Author's Notes:**  
>  If you’re looking for book references, remember when Edward (or actually it might have been Carlisle) says how if Alice hadn’t seen visions of them, she probably would have turned into a total savage? That’s the line that triggered a lot of this. 
> 
> Also, if you’re wondering where the dress came from, you might want to look back at the end of chapter 10. There’s a line about Alvis putting something down on the ground before he bites her. Naturally she was a bit distracted by the blood dripping her down her neck and never bothered to investigate but it turned out to be the dress. He grabbed it when they were in his office.


	12. Letting Go

_1931  
_ _Natchez_ _,_ _Mississippi  
_ _Alice_ _is 19 years old._

It was a strange thing for me, to step out of the forest for the very first time after eleven years of solitude. For although I had seen to the far reaches of the world within the confines of my mind, it was another thing entirely to see it in person. The vision of the massacre had long since faded and I had tested myself countless times. I was ready. 

Still, I stepped out of the trees with caution. I had taken extra care in bathing my body and dress the night before, yet I worried people might look at me strangely. After eleven years of abuse, the dress was so ragged and threadbare I feared it might simply fall off in exhaustion at any moment. As I slipped out through the trees, I felt a strip of fabric catch, and rip away from the rest and for a moment I feared that this had indeed come to pass. Miraculously, the remaining cloth held together. 

But when I arrived, I found most of the townspeople in a similar state of disrepair. This bewildered me at first. I had not cast my mind towards humans in many years. Soon enough I would come to understand the depression that had fallen over the country like an iron cloud, weighing down spirits along with the economy; but in those first moments, I did not understand. 

Although I had been planning this eventual return to society for quite some time, I realized that I hadn’t actually formulated any sort of plan. It was a small town, small enough that I would be recognized as an outsider immediately. And what was more, I had just been witnessed emerging from the forest. I also didn’t have any money. But I couldn’t just stand there. People were beginning to look at me funny. It was only a matter of minutes before someone plucked up the nerve to ask who I was. A dozen attempts whirled before my eyes. It suddenly occurred to me that someone here might even know the answer to that magical question that had been plaguing my thoughts all these years. After all, this was the nearest town to the spot I had woken up all those years ago. But anyone with answers would be stunned and terrified by my appearance. I considered giving a fake name. Even if I went unrecognized, I didn’t know if my true name would jog some half-forgotten memory. 

A weathered looking man who stood frozen in the motion of sweeping his front porch slowly put down his broom and hopped down onto the street. A small cloud of dust separated from the dry earth and rose a few feet into the evening air.

“Hello there,” he called out, still a good fifteen feet away. It occurred to me that he was trying not to frighten me. If only he knew. “You look a hint lost there Miss. Anything I can do you for?” Seeing that I was not showing signs of fear, he walked forward slowly, halving the distance between us. 

“I would be most obliged if you would point me towards the nearest inn.” This was the first verbal contact I had had with anyone in eleven years.

The man reached as if to take my elbow, then retracted his hand as if repulsed by some unseen force. But he courteously showed me to a small, two-story wooden building. It was missing more than a half its shingles and the dark green paint on the door was chipped in a few places. But the porch was well swept and when I went inside I found everything clean and cozy, though in a state of semi-disrepair. 

A ginger-haired woman of significant girth showed me up the stairs to a tiny room at the end of the hall. The roof slanted down at a sharp angle, so that I could only stand upright in the front two-thirds of the room. There was a wooden cot with a faded quilt that looked handmade and an iron bar was fitted across a corner of the room, a few wire hangers dangled dismally from this makeshift closet. A pale yellow curtain shut off a larger area which revealed a toilet, sink, and enamel bathtub. Almost all of these fixtures were, of course, superfluous to me… but I was mildly intrigued by this last discovery. Although I had made frequent use of the forest’s river, I had never before utilized a bar of soap. The act of renting the room itself was on the whole superfluous as well, considering my inability to sleep, but I needed somewhere to escape the curious stares of the townspeople and decide just exactly what I was going to do. 

The first order of business, I supposed, would be to try a little harder to blend in. Having some clothes to hang on that rod would be a good start. And some sort of bag would give the illusion of a traveler. For I **would** be traveling. I had decided that long ago. I had to find him. The man who’s future had been haunting my mind. It had never been a conscious decision, yet I knew it now with utmost clarity. 

* * *

At the darkest hours of the night, I found myself creeping silently down the wooden stairs and out into the night air that still felt quite warm to my frozen skin. Several hours before, I had been intrigued by a vision of a man in a tailored suit leaving the largest house in Natchez and driving to the train station. That was how I found myself gliding cat-like through the night. My hands easily found the grooves between the bricks and I scaled the wall in seconds. He kept his windows well oiled and the frame slid up with ease. In five minutes I was standing outside again, a small wad of green bills clenched in my left hand. 

The next day I found myself in possession of three new dresses, a bar of soap, a pair of second-hand boots, a brown leather briefcase, and at the last minute, a heavy traveler’s cloak that covered all of my skin and shaded my face. There would be such times that I would seek to move about unseen. And it might even serve to shield me from the revealing qualities of the sun. I spread my new purchases about the small room and was pleased to see that it no longer appeared to be inhabited by a ghost. I slipped off my old shoes, which were in tatters at this point, and slipped on the scuffed boots—dirty enough as to not call attention to themselves—and promptly collapsed onto the floor. There had been no time to grab hold of my muscles. They simply collapsed. The vision had come out of nowhere. As of yet I lacked the experience to control any visible signs of a vision. That would come later. 

_A young man, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, walks down the street. The sun is beginning to set behind him and illuminates the dust he kicks up with a warm, golden glow. He is dressed in a shabby brown suit and dark, thick curls can be seen beneath a grey cap. He walks without purpose, as if he is merely out for an evening stroll. He turns towards the very edge of the town and stops to buy a newspaper from a small stand that sits just a few feet from the forest’s edge. He sits down on a stump and glances pessimistically at the front page headlines. Whatever they are, he does not seem pleased and folds the newspaper up again in agitation. Then something in the forest catches his attention and he drops the newspaper in surprise. Something small and yellow is caught on one of the branches. Slowly, as if he is afraid it might bite him or disappear upon contact, he tugs it gently free. It is a small scrap of dirty cloth, yellow with a sun-faded scattering of pink and golden flowers. He gapes at the cloth as if it had sprouted a dozen writhing snakes and transformed into Medusa before his very eyes. His breathing becomes slightly panicked. “But…it can’t…I mean there was a fire for God’s sake. They said no one survived. It’s just a coincidence Otto, pull yourself together. But…it could…maybe…something…she could have…_ _Alice_ _?” He whirls around as if expecting someone, perhaps the long lost woman herself, to appear behind him. He looks both relieved and disappointed to find the street empty._

I was sure that if I hadn’t already been on the floor, the shock would have buckled my knees. As it were, I lay there for some time, breathing wildly in a strange state of panic. This man **knew**. He could tell me everything. I saw my whole past unfolding before me, waiting to be found. I glanced out the window and saw that it was late afternoon. Could it be tonight? Over my eleven years of self-exile I had begun to get a sense for my visions, of when they might be. This one had been very concrete. In fact I was quite certain it was today. Even if it were as soon as tomorrow, more details would have flickered, the man’s shirt, for instance, hadn’t changed colors once. This was usually a good indicator. He didn’t look like the type to plan out his outfits a whole day beforehand. I could go, now, be there when he arrived. I would conceal myself in the forest and emerge just as he made his epiphany. But even as the plan was still forming in my mind, something new appeared in front of my eyes.

 _The man whirls around. When he turns back towards the forest, a girl stands before him..._ _Alice_ _. He gasps audibly and his shoulders slump with shock. He looks as if the breath has quite literally been taken out of him. “_ _Alice_ _?” he whispers. She nods and smiles. He rambles. “But…how? I heard about the fire. And you look so young. My god, I was sure I was never going to see you.” He looks as if he might cry. Suddenly his arms are around her, and this is too much. Her body shakes visibly. Then her newly-gained control fails. She has the foresight to pull him with her into the forest, out of sight of the man at the newspaper stand._

I felt my stomach sink with bitter disappointment. Maybe there was another way, a different plan that could have a different outcome?

 _Alice jumps away from his embrace, putting distance between them. “_ _Alice_ _?” He looks hurt. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’ll explain later.” A fierce gust of wind blows his cap off of his head and thrusts his scent fiercely up her nose._

_It is early morning and the man strolls along in a different suit. He stops to buy a warm muffin. He sees her and drops the muffin in surprise. He rushes over. “Don’t come any closer,” she warns. He halts obediently. “It’s really you? You don’t know how long I hoped…”_ _Alice_ _sighs. “You’re right I don’t. I don’t know anything, Otto. It’s gone. All gone.” He gapes wordlessly. Then he shakes his head. “Oh_ _Alice_ _, what did they do to you in that place?” She smiles bitterly. “You tell me.” His eyes gaze at her sadly. “Oh,_ _Alice_ _…” And then despite her warnings she is in his arms. And he is dead._

 _Alice_ _’s eyes are light. She has just been hunting. It is that evening again. As he jumps around looking for the ghost of his childhood friend, she calls out softly. Just his name. He follows the voice into the forest until he reaches a clearing. Then he sees her, thirty feet up in a tree. “Can it be…?” She answers his whisper, though by all rights it should be too quiet for her to hear. “It can. And it is.” She smiles at him, mostly to ease the wonder he must feel at seeing this girl: back from the dead, paler than the corpse he thought she was, beautiful and younger than he could ever have imagined. And then for no apparent reason at all, she leaps. Her feet land on his shoulders and crush him to the ground._

I was overwhelmed by a stream of visions, short but unrelenting. And each one displayed the same, ever more inevitable end. The disappointment increased to something that was almost physical. It was more than disappointment. It was a rejection of this truth. It could not be possible that the answers I had longed for, just sitting there waiting to be found, could never be mine. Like a child convinced that if he screams long enough the will of parents can be swayed, I sat on the floor of the minuscule room, rocking slightly, and repeating the word “no” over and over again. I continued in this fashion all night.

The next morning I saw that he was looking for me. He was even considering knocking on the very inn where I was currently housed. There was still time. But there wasn’t. Not if I didn’t want to become a murderess. I felt myself clinging to details I had uncovered. There had been something about a fire…but no. It couldn’t be like this. I could already see the half-formed ideas tumbling in front of my eyes: the careful systematic tracking down of my old life. I would have to let my past pass me by. I was going to have to let go of it once and for all. 

I began to see that this was what it meant to be a Vampire, something I had never fully appreciated while living in the forest. I could not have human connections. 

That was how it had to be. I saw that now. I saw what I had to do. There was no sense in delaying. Otto might decide to come any day now. I would leave tonight.

My past was lost to me but the future stretched wide and full of possibility. 

I would find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Original Author's Note:** I know this chapter was really short. But it was just one of those things where that was where the logical division fell. I was writing and then all of a sudden I realized I was done. 


	13. A Reason

_1935  
_ _Elgin_ _,_ _Illinois  
_ _Alice_ _is 19 years old._

I stepped down from my 97th train ride to find snow whirling furiously about me. I had already checked to see if I would need to stay covered up, but the sun promised to stay resolutely shielded by thick cloud cover for the next three weeks. I had clearly chosen a good destination. Though, perhaps chosen was too strong a word. I had spent the last four years in a fruitless search for the ever-elusive man who haunted my visions. There was something terribly frustrating about the whole situation. I knew that he had lived in a small brick house with a cream colored door for several months in ‘33. I even knew that had been living on Canary Lane for almost all of ‘34. How irritatingly silly that I could know all this and yet have no idea where in this damnable country that little house sat. Pretty quickly it had become clear that I could either sit tight and wait until he happened to walk in front of a city council building or go searching, however blindly, for myself. But after waiting patiently in that forest for eleven years I couldn’t bear to be idle. There was no logical way to choose my destinations; however, so I started hopping trains. It was one of these trains that had taken me to blessedly snowy Elgin. 

I pulled my fraying cloak closer around me to keep up pretenses and hurried off down the wide street. I fell into my usual pattern, casually wandering about until I located some sort of lodging. It took longer than usual—this clearly not being a popular travel destination—but just as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon I located a boarding house that would have to do. It would be rather less anonymous than the places I usually selected, but I abruptly decided I was in the mood for a change. I stomped the snow off my boots and swung open the wide, oak door. I couldn’t help but smile at the scene I found before me. The whole room was paneled in dark wood. There was a large stone fireplace set into the wall on my left and three couches draped in knitted afghans were clustered in a semi-circle around it. A handful of sweatered humans sat sunken into their cushions, soaking up the warmth. When I entered, a woman rose from a battered rocking chair and fished a clipboard out from beneath a pile of knitting. 

I followed her up a narrow flight of stairs and was delighted to find the room she set me up with to be just as cozy as the common room downstairs. I threw myself back onto the bed in satisfaction and lurched to a halt next to an enormous spruce. 

_Rosalie Hale steps cautiously out into the clearing. There is a man laying face up in the center. And there is a monstrously huge grizzly bear towering over him. The man tries desperately to scoot backwards on his elbows but he only gets a few inches before the grizzly swipes at him, slashing through his brown tunic to the tanned skin of his stomach. Rosalie cries out and rushes forward, grabbing hold of the bear who thrashes in her grasp and swipes uselessly at her impenetrable skin. She launches it effortlessly into the trees. It lets out a surprised growl and can be heard thundering off into the woods. She turns to the dark-haired human, moaning on the forest floor._

_-_

_He is in her arms as she blurs her way through the trees. His eyes blink open and he looks up at her in awe. Then his lips curl up into an incongruously peaceful smile. She begins to shout even before the house is in view._

_“_ _CARLISLE_ _!!_ _Carlisle_ _, I need you.”_

 _When the yellow house is in sight, the blonde vampire is already waiting on the porch for her. He rushes forward and takes the dying man from her arms. “_ _Carlisle_ _, I need you to save him. Please! I’m not strong enough to do it.” He examines her face for only a moment before answering,_

 _“Alright, Rosalie.”_ _Her body slumps in relief. “You had better get out of here for a while; this will get bloodier before it gets better.”_

 _She nods stiffly and turns back towards the forest. Edward and Esme come hurtling out of the house together, looking around wildly before resting their eyes on the man in_ _Carlisle_ _’s arms. Edward’s eyebrows shoot up into his forehead and Esme quickly rushes to his side and follows him back into the house. Edward rounds on Rosalie,_

_“What have you done?” She sniffs the air and runs into the trees, Edward on her tail. She stops and sniffs again, then visibly relaxes. “You finally slipped up, didn’t you?” He looks hopeful at this thought._

_“No.” she says disdainfully. Then rubs her fingers against her temples and looks back up at him, her face full of pain. His expression softens and he sits down next to her atop a mossy log._

_“Oh, I see. Well that does make things different. But I still don’t understand, why him, why now?”_

_Something makes him wince._

_“Oh. This is surprisingly irrational for you, Rosalie. And just what are you going to do when he wakes up and you find yourself responsible for a newborn vampire? He could have been a violent or malicious person for all you know. That was really quite irresponsible of you.”_

_“I don’t know, Edward! Is that what you want to hear?”_

_He sighs and rests his hand on her knee. “No, Rosalie, that’s not what I want to hear. I want to hear that you knew exactly what you were doing so I don’t have to worry that you’ll regret it later. More than anyone else, I know how you grapple with this existence. I don’t want to see you add guilt to an already heavy load from bringing someone else into it.”_

_-_

_The man’s eyelids flutter open and blood-red irises dart from side to side. They settle on the golden-wreathed face hovering nervously above him, “Angel?”_

_The blond-haired beauty gives a half smile. “Not exactly.”_

I bolted into a sitting position, nearly falling off the bed in the process. I felt absurdly jealous of this unnamed man and the ease with which he had found the family, or rather that it had found him. For the Cullens remained just as elusive as Jasper. It was also intriguing to see Edward and Rosalie having such a private moment. From the scraps of scenes I had stored away over the years, it seemed there was a great deal of tension between the two, although I never understood why. And there was a strange thrill in this mystery boy, for although I knew nothing about him yet, someday he would be my brother and I looked forward to slowly unraveling this newest addition. Strange how my lonely duo of men had grown into a proper family. And stranger still that I had known them almost from the beginning, longer than any of the others, yet they knew nothing of me. 

The next day I began to plan. Without ever thinking it through, I had somehow decided that I was going to stay here longer than my usual few weeks. Perhaps if I was patient, Jasper might even come to me as Rosalie had come to that man. I might as well try to enjoy the intervening time instead of throwing away however many years it took to find him. I **would** find him; I felt sure of this. 

I cornered the innkeeper’s wife down in the common room and inquired if she might tell me what Elgin had to offer. As luck would have it, there were not one, but at least seven nature preserves in the vicinity. She also suggested that if I planned to stay a while, it might be fun to take a class or two at the Elgin Community College. I was so pleased by this first discovery that I almost missed the second one. I thanked her and headed out into the blustery morning, wrapped up in thought. 

It occurred to me that I had no idea what the extent of my formal schooling had been. It was never something I had had cause to wonder about before. I briefly tried to guess how many classes a non-student was permitted to take. It was a pity that I couldn’t be a real student, but considering that I not only lacked a high school transcript but also a social security number, this did not seem to be a viable option. 

I located the proper bus without much trouble. It was really quite charming how eager people were to help me find things. Two teenage boys not only told me which bus to take, but walked me seven blocks to the stop. And when I arrived at the college, I was greeted with more kindness. When asked, the man behind the desk had stuttered out that I was only permitted to take one class. Then he had looked about the empty room, leaned over the desk, and whispered, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if I let you in two. It’ll be our little secret.” I decided I was going to like Elgin. Everyone was just so friendly. So I had smiled as charmingly as I could and brought the papers out to a beautiful little pond to sort through the hefty stack of course lists.

How on earth was I supposed to only choose two? There was Philosophy and Psychology, European Literature and the Classics… there were things I hadn’t known existed, like Organic Chemistry and Multivariable Calculus. There were writing classes and painting classes and art history classes. It shouldn’t have been so hard to decide, considering that I would have all of eternity to take every course a dozen times over if I so chose. I ended up with Psychology (because it seemed prudent to understand the people I was living amongst) and Biology (in honor of Carlisle, so I would be able to understand by father’s passion once I did finally find him). 

* * *

Getting ready for classes took more effort that I had anticipated. I was entirely out of money, for one thing. And all the rest depended on taking care of that first problem. So that evening I managed to get myself invited to a fancy party. I wasn’t exactly sure how I had wheedled an invitation out of the young chap who had sat next to me on the bus. One moment he was offering to show me the best spots in town and the next he was handing me a stiff paper rectangle with a town house address written out in expensive purple ink. Perhaps this was more of that good-old Midwestern friendliness that I was becoming more and more familiar with. Though I always thinned out my wardrobe before carrying on to the next train station, fortune would have it that I had held on to a lovely silk dress I had acquired in Denver. No one would notice my lack of an overcoat; I had checked just to be sure. The party started at six but I didn’t arrive until past eight, not wanting to spend the night with boiled potatoes rolling around in my stomach. 

I tried to glide in as unobtrusively as possible, but somehow he saw me anyways. The young man who had invited me scurried over, one of his friends in tow. As they crossed the floor the man turned to his buddy, “See, I told you she would come.” As they slid into view I heard the man’s friend give a slight gasp of surprise. The friend looked utterly flabbergasted and stood still for a full minute. “You told me she was beautiful, but you didn’t tell me she was **that** beautiful. My God…” I was highly taken aback. So much for good-old Midwestern friendliness. With a slight stab of horror I wondered if this was the motivation for each of those nice acts that I had taken for granted. Surely I didn’t have that much of an effect on people. The man’s friend must be overreacting. I devoted the smallest possible portion of my mind to dealing with exchanging pleasantries with these two men while the much larger section mulled over this new development. I was drawn back to the present when I heard the friend ask me to dance. With a slight smirk, I accepted. As he settled his hand on my waist I wondered idly if I knew how to dance. But yes, I could see it clearly now: my tiny feet flawlessly stepping with his as he led us twirling across the dance floor. I supposed it was convenient, though the man was so dazzled he probably wouldn’t have even noticed if I’d smashed his toes. 

Several minutes of silence went by before my partner took a brave stab at conversation. “So, Jay tells me you just got into town.” I gave a distracted nod in assent. “So where’re you from, little lady?” 

“Oh, me? I’m from Tulsa,” I fabricated, naming a city in Oklahoma I had never been to. He looked so jittery it was hard not to laugh. “And yourself?” I figured I might as well be polite.

“I’m a… I’m an Elginian, born and raised.” He sighed wistfully. “And I haven’t ever left her either.” For a second I almost felt bad about what I was about to do. But only for a second. Then I watched as his gaze traveled from my face to my silk neckline and felt my resolve stiffen.

* * *

Just before ten thirty I crept up the wooden staircase, trying not to wake the other boarders. I finally shut the door of my own room and let out a sigh of relief. I slipped my crocheted purse from my shoulder and turned it upside down over the bed. Twelve leather wallets tumbled out over the bedspread. My general faith in the goodness of the human race had been slightly derailed by the end of the evening. I had watched as men ditched dates and wives alike to take a turn dancing with the mysterious beauty. The more I watched their thinly-veiled attempts at charming me the more disgusted I became. Perhaps I had given these creatures too much credit.

I began emptying out the night’s winnings and folding them neatly into my pocketbook. 

_Jasper sits on the porch with Peter. Peter shakes his head sadly. “I still don’t see why you want to leave. You’ve already found the respite from the violence you were looking for. What more do you seek?” Jasper’s burgundy gaze turns upwards towards his friend,_

_“That’s what I want to find out. That’s why I have to go. This isn’t enough for me. I need a reason. A reason for this all to have happened. Something to make this endless existence worthwhile. I am depressed all the time and I don’t even have a good reason why continuing on is better than just going back and laying down in the middle of the first battle I encounter. That is what I need to find. A reason.” Peter sighs._

_“But how can you be sure there is a reason? Maybe you think you can escape the pain by escaping from Charlotte and I. Maybe it will be just as bad on your own.”_

_“Maybe._ _But I’m tired of just waiting around for it to come find me. And if there isn’t one, then at least I’ll know I tried.” Then he rises from the porch and slings a rucksack over his shoulder._ _Charlotte_ _comes to stand in the doorway. She takes his hand and whispers,_

_“Good luck. I hope you find that which you seek.”_

I had never heard him speak so candidly before. He had always been reserved, judicious with what he said… so that when he did choose to speak, Peter and Charlotte always stopped and listened carefully, knowing that he never spoke without a purpose. Only once had I ever seen him like this. The two of them had been sitting on the porch again and Jasper had sat with his head in his hands. _It isn’t the same for you_ , he had whispered. _I feel your confusion and I know that you won’t understand. I can feel every last moment of terror as if it were my own._ It saddened me then as it did now to know that I knew of the solution that could save him from his misery, yet could not find him to give him this salvation. He was looking for me, even if he didn’t know it yet. I held the key to the meaning he craved. 

_Alice_ _and Jasper sit across from one another on the moonlit grass. “I’m glad that I could help you find the meaning, the reason you were looking for.” There is something sad in her face as she says this and he scoots closer to her, taking both her hands in his. “_ _Alice_ _,” he whispers softly. “You silly girl, your eating habits are not what I was missing. It was you. You are my reason.” His hands slide slowly up her arms and gently pull her into his lap. She is so small that he can almost curl his entire body around hers and his hands make slow circles on her back. He presses his lips against spikes of hair falling across her forehead. “It was always you.”_

Had I been in possession of a working heart, it would have been running a million miles a minute. For the first time I had confirmation that my search was not in vain. I had always been sure that I would find him, but to see the two of us together before my own eyes… that was something else entirely. And though it made me sad to realize that as soon as I saw the vision it was neutralized, that it would never happen because I knew what that possible Alice would not know, I was comforted by the assurance that there would be many equivalent moments to take its place. And I felt a strange tingling in my navel when I repeated his words in my head. It was not the information I held that he wanted. He would abandon the only friend he had to search for… me. I was the one thing that could give meaning to his existence.

And the thrill of that thought sent the tingles rushing all the way to my toes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **OG Author's Note:** Just for the record, all of the places I’m using are real (thank you Google maps) I must admit I’m having quite a bit of fun finding interesting names. So yes, there is a Natchez, Mississippi; an Elgin, Illinois; and even a Canary Lane in Huron, South Dakota (though Alice never figured that one out). 


	14. In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: violence (not graphic)

_1937  
_ _Elgin_ _,_ _Illinois_ _  
_ _Alice_ _is 19 years old._

Even in an eternal existence, there exist certain moments that will forever remain Points of Significance in one’s memory, events that divide up time into “before” and “after.” Waking up alone in the forest was a Point of Significance, although for that one there could only be an “after.” Leaving the forest and then deciding to hunt down Jasper had been a Point of Significance. But my long search was only punctuated by a handful of them. December 13, 1937 would become one of these. 

It began as normal as any day could be expected to begin, though it was unusually cold. I could already see flurries of snow drifting downwards through my frosted windowpane and in my mind I could see that it was going to get much worse. Not that the weather ever had any effect on my comfort, but I dressed the part in a long, woolen skirt and a heavy overcoat. I had already looked ahead to be sure my favorite class was not going to be canceled.

Taking classes at the community college had been both more rewarding and more complicated than I had originally thought. With a photographic memory, I absorbed information with the force and permanence of a black hole. There were a few tricky moments that were easily avoided thanks to my unusual visions. That first year I only finished half my biology course before realizing that we would be examining blood samples for the rest of the semester. After that I took more care in selecting my classes. I was taking photography this year, and it had worked out perfectly so far. Although the red safe light in the darkroom did glint rather oddly off my skin, the room had the enormous plus of being entirely windowless. And the class was conveniently spaced out, each student at their own enlarger with a safe three-foot radius on each side. I had quickly claimed the station at the very end of the row and the humans’ natural aversion to vampires usually left me with a two station buffer between the nearest student and myself. All in all, it had been my best idea yet. 

As I rode the rickety red bus down the Elgin Community College I was thinking excitedly about a new roll of film I had just developed the week before. I had been in a rush to finish on time and consequently had had to hang them up to dry without a moment to peruse my negatives. Curious as I was, I tried to suppress the visions I could feel tugging at the corners of my brain. I held out for the first fifteen minutes, but eventually one slipped in. I needed more practice.

The bus arrived with just a few minutes to spare and I hurried up the stairs at a carefully controlled human rate. I calculated it so that I arrived precisely on time, just as the second hand hit the twelve. I gathered up my supplies and was first into the darkroom. I set them down at my favorite enlarger and then went back into the light to select which picture to print first. When I returned I was pleased to discover I had the darkroom to myself except for just one human: a small, dark-haired boy with an unusual name.

Most of the other students called him Caesar, but I didn’t understand why this was a source of amusement. Julius seemed to get the joke, at least he would scowl in annoyance each time they made it, so I made the assumption that I was the only one not in on whatever it was. I was getting better at being inconspicuous among humans, but the enormous gaps in my knowledge were usually revealed in lengthy conversations. He was a pleasant boy, more so than most, and he had once even helped me fix my enlarger when a piece came off. I had been surprised and pleased to see that he did not seem as intimidated by me as the other students. He seemed nervous today, though I couldn’t tell why. His heartbeat was elevated and I could even smell hints of adrenaline as it periodically entered his bloodstream in bursts. 

So I was glad it was just the two of us and we could work at opposite ends of the room. 

And then suddenly, about halfway through the class, I heard his footsteps approach. His adrenaline levels were increasing at an alarming rate and it suddenly occurred to me that his nervousness had something to do with me. 

Cold fear settled in my stomach. Had he somehow found out my secret? My mind was already sifting through the last year’s classes and simultaneously inventing explanations to potential accusations when he spoke. 

“Uh… hi Alice.” Anticlimactic, but not enough so for me to let down my guard.

“Hello, Julius. Can I help you with something?” Best to keep things formal, not let him get any ideas. But his heart was pounding faster and suddenly his close proximity made me nervous. I could hear his blood pulsing through each and every vein. I willed him to speak, to distract me, to remind me that he was sentient.

“Oh, no. I just wanted to see what you were printing. You always do such nice stuff.”

I tried very hard not to laugh. Of course I did the best stuff. Unlike the rest of the class, I could actually see the minute differences in light and could even set the aperture and shutter speed, then look ahead to see if the exposure would be right even before I pushed the shutter.

I clicked on the enlarger, letting him view the picture. His heart pounded louder. And now he was very close, leaning over my shoulder to get a better view. He was too close; I could feel the heat radiating off of his arm, only inches away from my own. I would have taken a step away, put some well-needed distance between us, but I was sandwiched between him and the enlarger. I was trapped.

His nearness was becoming unbearable and I was a few seconds away from shoving him out of the way and running down the three flights of stairs for a few gulps of fresh air. For the first time all year, I longed for a window. 

Then I felt a warm pressure on my waist and I was too surprised to resist being turned slightly. For a moment, I had the ludicrous notion I was being allowed to escape. But he did not let go and suddenly his arms were wrapped around my waist. 

My mind was bombarded with gruesome visions of a blood-splattered darkroom. But instead of making me pull away in fear, they only fed the thirst that was already wildly out control. My visions had kicked in too late.

And then he did the most idiotic thing possible: he kissed me.

The consequences were immediate and deadly. I could feel the blood as it rushed through the capillaries of his lips and whatever modicum of control I had been holding onto was lost to the rhythmic beat that filled my entire being. I was one-hundred percent animal and there was no room left for Alice.

For a moment he was elated as I pulled him towards me, thinking I was returning the sentiment. 

He could not have been more wrong.

* * *

When it was over, I was horrified. But that would have to wait. I suspended all emotion as I desperately searched for some way to cover up the macabre scene before me without drawing the attention of the eight other people obliviously going about their business in the adjoining room.

I noticed a large cupboard that I had never opened before. I quickly flung open its doors, revealing stacks of photo paper, spare enlarger parts, and then on the top shelf, as if they had been put there by some act of providence, five unused paper cutters. They were made of steel and looked heavy. 

I quickly dragged his body next to the open cupboard. I silently pulled out the first paper cutter and laid it gently atop his torso, where I had squeezed too tightly, and there were sure to be broken ribs. 

I carefully inspected my own body, and decided any attempts at cleaning my shirt would be pointless. I meticulously scrubbed the patch of floor where he had fallen with an old rag until all traces were gone. 

Then I went back to the cupboard. I effortlessly pulled out the entire stack of paper cutters and then let them crash to the floor around his body. 

I waited exactly one and half seconds before letting out a piercing scream. 

The effect was immediate. The class came rushing in moments later and found me struggling to pull one of the paper cutters off his body, my shirt soaking up the pool of crimson blood. 

I was doing my best to feign hysterics and the teacher quickly yanked me away from his body. I decided it would not be an inappropriate response to flee. 

I ran down to the basement, stripped off my blood-soaked clothes, and shoved them into the furnace. I had to get the scent off of me before it drove me mad. I found a dirty looking towel under the sink and half-full bottle of bleach. I emptied the bottle over my head and did my best to dry off with the soiled towel. Then I pulled on my long overcoat, which I had grabbed on the way out, and walked calmly to the bus stop.

That evening I wrote a letter to my teacher, explaining that I was having nightmares about the incident and could not continue with his class. 

One week later, when he gave my name to the police for questioning, they were surprised to discover that I had moved out of town and had left no forwarding address.

I spent my longest train ride ever tortured for the first time by my acute memory. I had a lot to think through and I didn’t stop riding until I was finished.

I was not quite aware how many days I rode, but it was something on the order of a week. I got my own compartment, not ready to deal with close human contact, and spent the ride curled up in a corner, feeling miserable. 

I was a killer.

A monster.

A vampire.

Something wretched and heartless.

I had spent decades proving to myself over and over again that these humans were sentient, feeling beings who were enough like me that I could never harm them. 

I had been one of them, once, even if I didn’t remember. 

I would not have wanted my life to be brutally stolen for such a reason: merely because someone else had to **feed**. 

Of course I could not be sure how similar humans really were to me, and I had definitely found myself disgusted with them over the years. But I had to believe that what I had once been was something good and worth being. I had always granted them the benefit of the doubt. 

Until now.

And worse than all of this was the horrible realization that the Cullens would never want me now. 

Of course, Jasper would understand. He had lived this way since he was born into this life. He could not hold such actions against me. I had to believe that, though I couldn’t help wondering what sort of help I would be to him when I couldn’t even live as an example of that which I preached.

It was a small comfort in the face of my horror. For so long I had yearned for a family, for this family. They had inspired my original diet choice in the first place. I had been patient because I had been so certain that eventually we would all be together.

Desperately I reached out into the future for some reassurance that they would accept me, a vision of all of us together despite this calamity. 

But that was not what I saw. 

_Emmett lays face-up on the hardwood floor, his expression one of total dejection. Esme is perched daintily on the couch next to him, peering over him with concern._

_“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbles. “I’ve failed.” Her eyebrows only press together harder, forming another wrinkle of worry in her forehead. She slides off of the couch and onto the floor, sitting delicately next to his head._

_“Oh Emmett, you have not failed at all. Do you truly believe that I have never slipped? That Edward has never slipped? That temptation is only for the weak? You will only have failed at this way of life when you no longer believe in it, and anyone could see by your overwhelming despair that that is not the case.” She strokes his forehead gently, but there is still worry in his eyes._

_He sits up slowly and looks Esme in the eye._

_“But Rosalie has never slipped,” he whispers._

_A flurry of thuds can be heard as someone comes down the stairs at an inhuman rate. Rosalie does not halt her sprint until she is sitting on the other side of Emmett._

_Esme_ _subtly exits the room._

_“You foolish boy.”_ _She shakes her head at him. “If you must loath yourself, do not misdirect your emotions onto me as well.”_

_His lips slowly curl up into a grin._

_“Really Emmett, what were you thinking? You’ll have to do much better than that if you’re planning to get rid me.”_

_Then he is in her arms and the sadness is gone from his eyes…_

At that moment the train pulled into its last stop and a loud voice announced, “Torrey, Utah. Everybody off! Torrey, Utah. Last stop!”

I quickly gathered together my belongings and hurried out onto the platform in this new city. I felt hope for the first time since that fateful afternoon in the darkroom. The Cullens made mistakes too! They were forgiving and so surely they would forgive me. I pulled my hat down lower over my face, to hide the crimson irises. I would have to stay out of sight until that horrible reminder of what I had done faded into nothingness. 

And although I was filled with renewed hope, a flood of loneliness crept up in its wake. 

There was no one to comfort me as Emmett had been comforted. I had not felt so very alone since those first years in the forest after realizing I had been abandoned by my maker. For the second time I felt a surge of jealousy that Emmett and Rosalie had so easily and accidentally found their way to the Cullens while for I, who so actively sought them out, they proved forever elusive.

But somehow my gift had a way of showing me what I needed to see.

_Alice_ _stands alone in a clearing. Dappled sunlight shines through the leaves, sending patches of icy skin into sparkling radiance._

_She is waiting._

_A figure leaps into the sunlight from a shaded patch beneath several oak trees, his skin sending the sunlight into prismic disarray._

_Alice does not turn around, but smirks to herself._

_Diamond-dusted arms encircle her waist and a pointed chin settles onto her shoulder. He spins her around so that she is facing him and he can’t stop himself from grinning when he sees her face._

_Alice_ _makes a tsk’ing sound with her mouth and shakes her head in mock disappointment. “I think you’re getting worse, I knew you were coming seven minutes ago.”_

_“Well then,” he whispers huskily, “I guess I’ll have to make you forget you won.”_

_And his lips on hers for a glorious moment…_

…and then the vision was gone.

And suddenly it was hard to be pessimistic about the present when the future looked so good.


	15. Saints and Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final installment! Originally, I did not intend for this to be the last chapter of the story, but I do think that it works just fine as an ending. I found a draft for chapter 16 on an old harddrive along with the rest of these, but it was literally just a single paragraph. Based on my faded memory, the original ending would have been Alice and Jasper finding the Cullens. As I mentioned at the outset, this story is mostly canon compliant, but this chapter is where it diverges slightly from some of the details we got in Eclipse (which was published after I wrote this); honestly, I'm surprised at how well this story fit into the information we got there. I considered re-writing this chapter to make it fit, but there were too many other things that wouldn't make sense if I did that so I'm going to leave it as is.

_1941  
_ _Chimayo_ _,_ _New Mexico  
_ _Alice_ _is 19 years old._

I did not attend school again for a very long time. Between the strength I had built up over my years in the forest and the forewarnings of my visions, my self-control had never truly been tested before. I realized that it was something I had taken for granted. I thought of all the men I had charmed out of their wallets and shuddered at the realization that had any of them lacked the manners to be so forward in public, this sort of incident might have come up much earlier. This was going to be something I would have to get used to; times were changing and customs weren’t what they had been. The incident stood as a jarring reminder that time had not frozen along with my body those many years ago. It was also the first time my visions had ever failed me in a big way. I had not seen it coming and when I did they had served to further enrage my bloodlust. I was greatly perturbed that the visions I had trusted implicitly had turned on me. 

I spent the next several years wandering, keeping mostly to myself, shunning social situations unless it was entirely necessary. 

After deciding that my self-induced isolation had lasted long enough, I made the move to New Mexico and set my sights once more on finding Jasper. I settled down in yet another boarding house and quickly set about learning Spanish. Not that I couldn’t get by well enough with English, but the small town I had settled in did have a large Mexican-American population. And as soon as I had moved to the town, a sprinkling of my visions started coming to me in Spanish and it irked me greatly that I couldn’t understand them. I was also curious as to how easily I could learn a language with my photographic memory. I quickly discovered that the answer was quite easily indeed.

The next day I dropped by the bookstore and picked up the largest and most comprehensive English-Spanish dictionary I could find as well as several grammar books. The next day I returned the books, their contents memorized. Although the vocabulary was easy, I discovered that foreign languages have something of a feel to them that cannot be captured from a textbook. Speaking them properly relies on gaining certain instincts that can only be learned through practice. I checked out several novels in Spanish from the local library and took to spending my afternoons lurking at _La Tortuga_ (The Tortoise), a café owned by an old Mexican couple that seemed to serve a crowd of solely Mexican-Americans. I would order a cup of coffee that went untouched, pull my hat down over my eyes, and absorb the conversations around me. 

A week later I decided to test my newfound skills. I had forgone my usual hat in an effort to appear more approachable. I perused the menu for a moment and figured I might as well start by ordering,

“Me gustaría un café con leche, por favor.” They were the very first words I had ever spoken in the language, yet they rolled off my tongue in a flawless Mexican accent. Sometimes being a vampire paid off. The man behind the counter looked startled for a moment before retreating to bustle with the mugs. 

I carried my drink over to one of the brown, sagging couches in the corner, blowing on it as I walked to keep up the illusion that I was actually planning to ingest the brown liquid. I felt the couch shift beneath me and hot, young blood assaulted my senses. A teenage boy had taken the seat next to me. 

“Hola, señorita, ¿en serio habla español?” (Hello, young lady, do you really speak Spanish?) I laughed at his disbelief. Though his question was totally warranted, why would some white, American girl know Spanish? I was far too pale to ever be confused with a Mexican. How had I overlooked this glaring problem? I was so concentrated on learning that I never stopped to think that learning another language just to see if I could wasn’t a particularly human thing to do. It seemed that every time I tried to integrate myself into society I messed it up. Maybe I could get away with being from Spain…well, partly from Spain. I was still very pale.

“Sí, es verdad. Vivía en España con mi abuela por muchos años. Hace dos años, vine a los Estados Unidos. Pero ya sé inglés también. (Yes, it’s true. I lived in Spain with my grandmother for many years. Two years ago, I came to the United States. But I already know English as well.)” The boy laughed good-naturedly and stuck out his hand in greeting.

“Soy Javier. (I’m Javier)” I shook his hand and opened my mouth to introduce myself, but the boy jerked back and withdrew his hand, his mouth open in shock. “Pero su mano… es tan fría. ¿Está bien, señorita? (But you’re hand…it’s so cold. Are you alright?)” _Shit._ The hand I had just offered him had been wrapped around my steaming mug moments ago.

The café had gone silent. _Double shit._ Then it was filled with the low murmur of suspicious muttering. I tried desperately to take it all in, to see how bad the damage was.

“¿Qué ha dicho él? (What did he say?)”

“¿Su mano? (Her hand?)”

“¿…en ese café caliente? (…in this warm café?)”

A tiny child threw his arms around his mother’s middle and cried out in terror, “¡Es una fantasma!” 

I tried very hard not to laugh. Me, a ghost? Surely I was much too tangible for that. But this was no laughing matter. And the child’s guess had come a far cry closer to the truth than anyone else. I concentrated very hard on keeping the deer-in-headlights sensation that flooded my body from showing in my face. I remembered belatedly something from my reading by Mexican culture. Spiritualism is very popular there and it is common to believe in ghosts or claim to have spoken directly with a Saint. Somehow, I doubted they believed in vampires. Still, I couldn’t be discovered. I made a rash decision and quickly let it play out successfully in my head before going through with it. 

I clasped my hands in front of me and tried to look mystical,

“Soy la Santa Alicia de Francia, de los ciegos y los paralíticos. Tengo que desaparecer ahora… (I am Saint Alice of France, of the blind and the paralytic. I have to disappear now.)” And with that I disappeared. 

Or rather, I ran so fast out of that café that no human eye would have been able to detect the motion. To them it would seem I had winked out of existence. It was an incredibly dangerous move, one I never would have risked without seeing the successful outcome beforehand. I slowed to a stop behind a deserted shed and then pulled my hooded cloak down over my face in case one of them should see me. I had no idea if any of them had even heard of Saint Alice, but she was the first one who had come to mind. The name had stuck not only because it was my own but because a very strange coincidence: Saint Alice was known for having visions. 

But whether they had heard of her or not, I saw comforting images of them regaling their grandchildren with stories of the day a Saint had revealed herself to them. And for a moment I felt like a secret agent of espionage, forced to keep my identity hidden. 

But if I truly intended to keep that secret, I would have to leave in the morning. This brought on a wave of regret; I had only been in this town a few weeks and had been enjoying it immensely. However, it would be safe to resettle a few towns over; people didn’t travel much here. And then I could continue perfecting my Spanish. Maybe someday I could travel all over the world, going from country to country and learning the language of each before moving on. It was one of those rare moments where the idea of forever excited me. 

I checked my pocketbook to be sure I had enough to buy a train ticket. I did, and so found myself with an evening alone in my rented room. For half an hour I checked and rechecked my visions, making sure that each and every patron of that café believed my story if not completely, at least enough so that they were not planning to report me as a suspicious person to the authorities. 

Then, finished, I flopped back onto the bed, and was yanked away again against my will into the first of what I would later call nightmares, though it would have been a more apt name had they featured in my sleep instead of interrupting my waking thoughts with visions of horror…

_It is raining and the ground has long since turned to mud. A family huddles together. They are in a line, with guards on either side of them. The mother clutches her small son to her chest and he wails into the gathering darkness. An older woman, the grandmother, stands stoic and emotionless, her lips pursed together. The husband holds his wife’s hand, his face milk-white with fear. The guards usher them along and just ahead of them the line forks into two. Husbands and wives, mothers and sons, sisters and brothers are torn apart and herded through gates, many of them never to see one another again._

_The family sees this and the mother clings more desperately to her child. The guards bark at them in a strange, unfamiliar language and the little boy cowers in fear, his face dirty and wet with tears. When the mother refuses to let go of her child, the guard yells again and slaps her across the face. She stumbles to the ground, her face landing in the mud. The brown liquid soaks through her yellow dress. By the time she has pulled herself to her feet, the boy is beyond the gate and the guard is trying to lead her shocked husband away as well. He reaches out and grasps her hand in his, saying nothing aloud and everything with his eyes. And then he too is gone and she is left alone with the stoic grandmother._

_They are led into a large warehouse with the other women and the guards yell something in their harsh language. The women begin taking off their clothing, glancing uncomfortably at the guards who watch unabashedly. The grandmother shields her daughter from their prying eyes; her own body is no longer of interest to anyone. A female nurse hands out pinstriped dresses as their old clothes are collected in cardboard boxes. The grandmother shivers from the cold._

_The head male guard steps forwards and shouts loudly. The women begin to run laps around the empty room. The grandmother’s breathing turns ragged after only a few laps. No one knows why they are doing this but it seems imperative that she succeed. She tries desperately to keep up but soon her pace slackens and she is at the end of the group. She tries to ignore the horrible pain in her lungs. Then she stumbles. She falls. The guards pull her roughly from the floor and throw her against the wall. As the series of physical tests continues, seven others join her against the wall. They have been singled out as the weakest of the group._

_The guards yell again and the women scramble to their feet. The grandmother looks over her shoulder at her daughter and for just a few seconds, her stoic mask falls. But then it is up again and she is being led outside. The rain has ceased, but the ground is just as muddy and unpleasant. The guards yell a command and the women file into a line and silently follow the uniformed men to the other side of the camp. They are at the very edge now, by the tall fence topped with swooping curls of barbed wire. They enter a building and the male guards bark another order in harsh words that_ _Alice_ _cannot understand. The women slip off their clothes and fold them into neat piles. The grandmother reaches behind her neck and unclasps the gold star-of-David necklace at the guards command. The naked women sit on the benches and ten uniformed nurses enter with scissors and walk down the lines, chopping the women’s hair to chin-length._

_They are ushered through a narrow hallway and enter a large, communal shower room. Some of the captives relax at this, while others become even more panicked. Who is right?_

_There is a loud thud as the heavy metal door swings shut followed by a less distinct click. A few seconds tick by as the naked inmates look around in confusion; the showerheads don’t have any knobs. Then there is a harsh hissing noise coming from the ceiling and the room starts to fill up, not with water, but with mist. For a moment, everyone is confused. Then the gas reaches their lungs and they begin to scream._

It was not until I heard the loud knocking on my door that I realized I too had screamed. I lurched back into a sitting position, my eyes wide with horror and my stomach overcome by a confusing compulsion to vomit. I composed myself, and then changed my mind, mussing my hair and slumping my shoulders. I swung the door open and looked up at my landlady through lidded eyes and mumbled sleepily,

“Wha’shu want?”

Her eyebrows furrowed together, “You…you screamed. Just now. Is everything all right?”

I let out a yawn for good measure and rubbed my eyes, “Screamed? Must have been a bad dream…you woke me just now. Must’a drifted for a bit. Sorry ‘bout that.” I gave her a half hearted wave and then shut the door before she could respond. 

As soon as I was alone again, my mind shifted abruptly back to what had just happened. I had never had such a long and detailed vision about humans. And if the unfamiliar language was any indication, humans who were nowhere nearby. It didn’t follow the usual pattern of my visions at all. I had to consider the possibility that there had been a vampire present whom I had lost in the crowd. Unbidden the image of the prisoner’s final cries of desperation flashed before my eyes and I did not see anyone unaffected by the gas. They could have been feinting though. _Hmm._ _One of the guards?_ _What language were they speaking anyways? It was very harsh, completely different than Spanish._ I’d figure that out later. Once I had gotten out of this town. 

My sense of urgency was only fueled by this newest development, as if follow-up visions might be avoided by a change in location. I highly doubted that. I often had certain… senses about my visions that helped me interpret them. And right now I knew this wasn’t an isolated event. Something big was coming in the human world. I had no idea what, but something horrific that would result in this atrocity. Probably many more atrocities. It wasn’t going to happen tomorrow or next week but it was coming soon. 

I felt like I ought to warn the country, the world, that something was coming. But what on earth could I possibly say? Who would I even approach? And how could I possibly do it without exposing myself? They would never take me seriously until it was too late. The half-formed visions were already flashing before my eyes, runny and indistinct, but their outcomes were quite clear. I would be locked up, studied. Other vampires would be furious; they would come for me. _Three men in black cloaks._ I had no idea who they were, but they looked very old and very dangerous. I had said my goodbyes to the human world a long time ago, this was only another confirmation of that. 

I sighed and began the ridiculously short process of gathering up my few belongings. They had multiplied over the years, but not by much. I had bought many dresses but few I felt enough attachment towards to keep after moving. I took my time folding them into a wood and leather valise, keeping out my long black traveling cloak. It was one of the few things I still had from my very first shopping expedition. I planned to leave long before sunrise, but it was always good to have, just in case. On second thought, I tossed a pair of elbow-length gloves aside as well for good measure. 

I changed into a blue, plaid dress with a wide belt and then there was nothing left to prepare. Ordinarily, I was accustomed to having a lot of unfilled time on my hands, but I had also noticed that my visions seemed to come more easily when my mind was unoccupied. And right now the idea of another vision was thoroughly unappealing to me. The humans had traumatized me enough for one night. 

It was strange, that I found myself so affected by the vision. The things I saw were often fraught with the violence of my kind but there was something wholly different about this. This wasn’t a matter of natural instincts; this was cold, calculated, unnecessary cruelty. I had seen humans kill and murder and rape and do all manner of horrible things to one another…but I had always regarded them as having a certain brand of innocence that was barred from the world of the undead. Now, I wasn’t sure what to think.

I pondered this for quite some time. But not long enough; there were still several dangerous hours to wait out before the trains started running again and I was running out of distractions. And then a felt it: the tell-tale tingling somewhere behind my eyes, the flickering at the perimeters of my vision. And then I was sucked away to somewhere entirely unexpected.

 _It is late, past_ _midnight_ _, and the clouds obscure the moon. A lone figure walks down an otherwise deserted street. The businesses on either side are boarded up for the night and the wind whistles through the trees that line the street. It is an eerie night but the figure walks down the street with the utmost confidence. After all, he is assuredly the most dangerous thing out there tonight. Something flashes in the alleyway but he does not turn to investigate. The air around him blurs and then three shapes appear behind him. He is taller than all of them, but they have him on weight and numbers. He sighs loudly but does not turn around._

_“I felt you coming six blocks ago. You people never learn.” The man on the left straightens up at these words and takes a step forward. He is clearly the leader of their little gang. The lone man lets out another sigh and finally turns to face them. The one on the left crosses his arms and his lips curl up into a sneer,_

_“Long time no see, Major.” He spits out the title like it tastes bad coming out. Jasper chuckles,_

_“Not something I particularly regret,_ _Rosario_ _. But I see that hasn’t stopped you from tracking me down. Which was a useless effort, I might add. I’m not coming back.”_

_“¿No, Jasper, estás seguro? (Are you sure?)” Jasper’s face remains completely composed as he stares straight into_ _Rosario_ _’s black eyes._

 _“Si, estoy seguro._ _(Yes, I am sure.)”_

_Rosario’s voice is several decibels lower when he replies, and all traces of friendliness are gone as he hisses,, ¿Qué estás haciendo, Jasper?_ _¿Tu vida tiene un gran propósito ahora? ¿Es mejora en una manera u otra? Ya sabes su propósito, Jasper. Tienes un talento precioso. (What are you doing, Jasper? Does your life have a grand purpose now? Is it better in some way? You already have a purpose, Jasper. You have a precious talent.)”_

_Jasper’s red eyes burn with intensity, but when he speaks his tone is even and calm, “Si, tengo un propósito y es algo más grande de eso. No sé que es, pero existe. Y lo buscaré. (Yes, I have a purpose and it is something greater than that. I don’t know what it is, but it exists. And I will find it.)”_

_Rosario stomps his foot, sending a spider web of cracks across the pavement. Jasper laughs, “Temper, temper.”_

_“¡Véngame!_ _(Come with me!)”_ _Rosario_ _commands._

 _Jasper spits on the pavement at_ _Rosario_ _’s feet. Then looks directly into his eyes, “¡Vete a la chingada! (Fuck off!)”_

 _Rosario_ _stares at Jasper as if he has been slapped, all signs of machismo gone. Without another word_ _Rosario_ _turns on his heel and walks back towards the alley he first appeared from. One of the other vampires turns to Jasper and says, “That’s our final offer.” Jasper spits on the ground again. The pair lope after their leader and disappear into the night._

 _When they are gone Jasper’s shoulders slump and he kneels down on the pavement. He rubs his palms against his eyes and then runs both hands roughly through shaggy, blonde hair. He begins to mumble quietly, almost incoherently,_

_“Could you possibly hurry up? I have been waiting very patiently for something to happen but nothing has. I know you’re out there somewhere. Is a hopeful sign too much to ask?” There is a very pregnant pause, as the night fails to produce anything miraculous. He lets out a low sigh and then swallows loudly. His shoulders sag with defeat. “Stupid vampire, talking to no one. You’re losing it Jasper, you really are. Better luck next decade.”_

_He lifts his face skyward, “Well… if you do feel like showing up anytime soon, I’ll be waiting for you in Angel Fire.” The moon shifts from behind its cloud cover and silver light glints off the planes of his face. And for a moment he looks like he might be an angel._

The transition back into reality was not nearly as harsh as with the last vision. Rather, the image before my eyes slowly began to run like wax and ever so gently I felt myself drifting and settling back into the tangible world of the present. My dead heart ached for my lonely vampire and I longed to reach back into that vision and somehow respond to his cries, to tell him that he was not speaking to no one. For he was speaking; it was almost as if he knew it without knowing it. I almost had to laugh. After all these years of fruitless searching, of visions that never quite revealed his location, he told it to me so easily and simply. As if the solution had always been there, lurking just out of sight. 

_Angel Fire._ I fished an atlas out from the bottom of my valise and began meticulously scanning each page. I fully intended to search the entire book—I had plenty of time—but luckily that proved unnecessary. As I began scanning the page for Alaska, a vision came before my eyes. I recognized my own hands holding that very atlas open to the page entitled ‘New Mexico’ and my own pale finger pointing at one of the black dots. _How convenient_. It would never have occurred to me to circumvent my search by previewing the outcome but now that the idea had presented itself, it seemed obvious. Hurriedly I flipped through the pages to the one that had appeared in my vision and took a few moments to find the black dot that marked the city. But then, there it was, just as I had seen it: Angel Fire. Why it couldn’t have been much more than 50 miles from Chimayo, high up in the mountains. 

I pondered the words: Angel Fire. It was a most peculiar name, but one that I felt a strange connection to. I shouldn’t have; I was certainly no angel—though I had recently claimed to be a Saint. But I did have a certain ethereal beauty, a face that humans described as belonging to an angel when they thought I couldn’t hear them. And I was so small, not even five feet tall, yet I could crush a steel I-beam with one hand and run faster than the speediest motorcar. I looked to be an angel but I was as dangerous as fire. The name made me smile. 

But then I remembered what would be awaiting me in that town and I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face nor the excitement that flooded through my obsolete veins. I would take the train as planned the next morning, only now I had a destination…

 _The next morning!_ That was still hours away and this was the first time I had known exactly where he would be at a particular time. For I was sure from the solidity of the vision that it was to pass that very night; he might even be walking down that street at that very moment! The idea of waiting made me nervous. _Screw the train._ I was not going to pass this opportunity up. I was leaving now. I knew all too well how malleable the future was and I was absolutely not going to take a chance with this. 

Jasper was completely right. He had been admirably patient—I had too, but at least I knew what I was waiting for and that I would eventually find it—and it was time to go answer his plea. 

Moments ago I had been dealing with excess hours to waste and suddenly I didn’t seem to have nearly enough time. I slid my hands into the elbow-length gloves and pulled on the traveling cloak at vampire speed. I extracted enough money from the pocket of my dress to more than cover the bill. I paused for a moment to give the room one last glance for overlooked belongings, or possibly just to pull myself together before I rushed off to find this man who still didn’t know I existed. I was so glad to finally have the chance to meet him in person. After every vision of Jasper I found myself further drawn to him and although I cherished each one, I had been hoping that I would not discover too much about him or become too enamored with him before I actually found him so I could uncover those wonders in person. 

I walked silently down the rickety stairs and out into the moonless night. I squeezed my eyes closed and sent him a silent plea: _Don’t go anywhere, Jasper. I’m coming for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Original author's notes:** just so you know, I’m still doing my research….haha, I tried to have Alice learn off of tapes but then I realized they hadn’t been invented yet. Also, the whole Saint Alice thing is a legitimate and very weird coincidence that I discovered. I was looking at lists of Saints, trying to find one that was appropriate and happened across our protagonist’s namesake. I clicked the link and was totally shocked to find this other similarity. It was actually kind of creepy.
> 
> And are you beginning to see the Alice who loves to fabricate evidence?
> 
> And yes, I do actually speak Spanish…I didn’t get this off a translator. According to the College Board, having passed my AP means I’m proficient… but I never claimed to be fluent. I definitely have some issues with the subjunctive still, but I tried to keep it simple so as not to embarrass myself. If any native speakers want to correct me, feel free.
> 
>  **Updated Notes:** I hope that ending was satisfying enough...or at least knowing that the story is finished gives more closure than those who originally read this, waiting around for another chapter that never came. I have no idea if anyone who originally read this over on fanfiction.net will ever find it here, but in case they do I'd like to offer my sincere apologies for abandoning this story (and the other, much less complete story up there) and never announcing that it was abandoned. What happened is that I went off to college and I didn't really have room in my life for writing fanfiction anymore.
> 
> On the plus side, I did finally make my way back, all these many years later. These days I'm writing in the Glee fandom, so if that interests you, I hope you will check it out! It's under my main pseud "Esperanto" and you can find me on tumblr where I post mostly about Glee and fanfiction writing at: esperantoauthor.tumblr.com.
> 
> Please leave a comment with any thoughts or reactions to this story! I always treasure feedback on my stories, even if it's over ten years later.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone remembers reading this in 2007-2008 over on ff.net, please tell me! I'll get such a kick out of it!
> 
>  **Please comment!** I love engaging with readers and respond to every comment! Questions are welcome but I should warn you that if you want to know *why* I made a particular choice the answer is likely to be that I don't remember because it was over a decade ago😂
> 
>  **Original notes:**  
>  I must first address the title of this story, since it is not entirely mine to claim. It comes from a book by Lauren Slater called Skinner’s Box- Great Psychological Experiments of the 20th Century. One of the chapters is entitled the same as this story, and tells of an experiment in which a psychologist and a few of his friends got themselves accepted to various asylums all by claiming to hear a voice in there head saying “thud”.
> 
> The date I’m using is based off the lexicons date of 1901 for Alice’s birth. There is a question mark next to it on the page, so I don’t know how accurate it is.


End file.
